


The Normal Level Of Demon-Possession Is None Demons

by razboinicul_iernii



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood, Demonic Possession, Demons, Emotionally Repressed, Freaky sex dreams, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Funfetti Martinis, Gaslighting, Ghosts, Halloween, Hallucinations, Horror, Humor, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Internalized Homophobia, Occult, POV Sam Wilson, Paranormal, Past Abuse, References to Drugs, Sam Is So Done, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Slurs, Spiders, Steve Rogers is a Devoted Individual, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Suicidal Thoughts, Unwanted Sexual Advances, Verbal Humiliation, Vomiting, basically demons are mean, but really more humor, i'm really not sure what to tag it but i feel like a warning is warranted somehow, like very mild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 68,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razboinicul_iernii/pseuds/razboinicul_iernii
Summary: Bucky takes a lot of the hardships in his life in stride. Unfortunately for Sam and everyone else, his demonic possession while under HYDRA's control is one of those things he's been rather flippant about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do swear that the next chapters of my other multichapter fics are about to receive updates I won't just keep starting new ones. But it's Halloween time, you understand I have to post this one now :)))
> 
> This is one of those light fics not to be taken too seriously but I forget how those are called. This is all for Halloween fun.

It was the first week of October before anybody knew about the issue. Yeah, in Sam's mind Bucky was kind of one whole big Issue with a capital I, but being the voice of reason, people here didn't often listen to him about stuff like that. He knew it wasn't because they thought any less of him. They were all just stubborn as hell. A great trait for a team of people to share when they only seem to operate under high-stakes, world-ending pressure.

Halloween was coming, and Sam liked it just the same as anybody else. It meant the holidays were next, it meant the weather was in that nice, comfortable range before plummeting somewhere around Siberian tundra, routines were firmly in place, and of course, there was a lot of candy. Not that he thought anybody would be bringing their kids around here to trick or treat or anything. The compound in upstate New York was unknown to all but a handful of government agencies for the sake of transparency on their part. Tony bragged he could hide from every one of them, he just didn't want to. Whether or not that was true, Sam had no idea, but he figured it was better to try to stay on the FBI's good side anyway and didn't push the issue.

The other thing Halloween brought with it was some form of scary movie marathoning. Not everyone sat through them. Wanda hadn't seen a lot of the classics, so she was willing to watch them. He still didn't know if it was out of real interest or just an increased effort on her part to spend more time with the group outside of working conditions. Scott, who was in town for a few weeks while his ex and her husband had Cassie, pushed too much for the campy eighties flicks that Sam often tried to veto. Tony-if he was even ever around-was pretty much always too busy to watch anything longer than a twenty second YouTube clip. Vision made for a great film watching partner given his absolute confusion over so many customs and movie tropes they all took for granted but he was in Asgard with Thor. Steve passed on the more violent ones, even if he understood the camp factor. And Bucky tended to wander in and out at random points, shake his head a little, and leave.

They were in the middle of a ghost movie now. He liked those better than the slasher flicks. They could be a little more subtle, with scares you made yourself look for even if you really didn't want to. "Man, why do these people _always_ stick around when that weird shit starts happening?" he asked, well, no one in particular. But scary movies were for griping about how you'd do it better so it didn't matter who he was directing anything at.

"Are you kidding me? Look at that house! That's their first house as a couple. Satan himself could knock on my walls all night if it meant I got to live in that house before I hit 30," Scott said, gesturing emphatically at the TV.

"I think it's too much space," Natasha said with a shrug.

Scott was already shaking his head before she finished speaking. "You can not have too much space."

"Look, all I'm saying is this kind of thing never happens in, like, studio apartments, so maybe Natasha's right," Sam said. And he wasn't just agreeing with her because she was an incredibly attractive and incredibly deadly woman. It was just the truth.

"Perhaps hauntings are an issue that only the rich are burdened with?" Wanda suggested, raising an eyebrow but keeping her focus on the screen.  
  
"Ghosts into direct action. I can get behind that," Sam muttered, even if his own bank account was steadily inflating the longer he served with the Avengers.

"But it's not haunting the house. It's haunting the people." Scott pointed again at the TV, stabbing at the air with a finger. "If they went to an apartment, the same crap would happen to them."

"Children, please," Natasha said, eyes never having left the screen. She nodded towards it. "Movie." She liked horror movies. Of course, she was never, ever afraid of them no matter what style they were. No, instead she mocked the way the people in them reacted to intense and terrifying situations. Sometimes she even went so far as to critique the killers' forms and methods. Sam didn't know what he'd do with the information of how, exactly, Natasha would kill a family of deranged, chainsaw wielding psychopaths, but he had it, just in case.

"What are you watching?" Sam and Scott both looked back to where Bucky stood in the kitchen cracking open one of those disgusting Russian beers Natasha always kept around. Bucky's face was scrunched up with confusion as he tried to decipher the screen, which currently showed the couple tossing and turning in bed in night vision. "Is that surveillance footage?"

"It's Paranormal Activity," Scott said. "It's made to look like somebody found this video footage on a home camera or something."

"But I thought movies are supposed to look good."

Sam bit back sarcastic responses. Like: _Beers are supposed to taste good._ Or: _Hair is supposed to be washed regularly._ Or: _Pants are supposed to be worn, always._

Scott continued the explanation instead. "No, it's like, a stylistic choice. It works great for horror movies, makes it feel more real and less staged."

Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes like they were all stupid and Sam didn't miss Natasha's smirk. "Why do you guys always watch stuff like that?"

Sam looked at Scott and Scott was nice so he didn't make a face, but Sam was not nice, not to Bucky "hope you didn't want that steering wheel" Barnes, so he looked bored with Bucky's question. "You're scared of horror movies? 'Cause somebody gave me the impression you Red Room people find them hilarious."

"It's a coping mechanism," Natasha said and was plainly lying.

"They're just too-I don't know." Bucky shrugged.

"It's a ghost story, though, not gory or bloody at all," Scott said, like he was trying to reassure Bucky it was a good movie.

"I don't like ghosts."

"Technically it's a demon," Natasha said.

"Don't like them much either."

Sam snorted. "You know many demons and ghosts?"

"Just the one. I mean they aren't fun things to have around so I don't know why you'd wanna watch a whole movie about them when you can watch something good instead."

Sam guessed he should pat Bucky on the back because he managed to make Natasha look confused and that pretty much never happened. But he was too busy turning around to face Bucky with a similar expression on his face and if he had to guess, Scott and Wanda were probably doing the same. "What?" they all asked at about the same time and Bucky looked a little overwhelmed with the attention, picking at the label on his beer as he shrugged.

"Well...you know. You could watch something better. Like one of those Die Hard movies. Those are great."

Sam held up a hand because Bucky clearly wasn't understanding where their confusion was stemming from. This happened kind of frequently so Sam was used to it by now but never had it been on a subject this weird. "Man, back up. What do you mean 'just the one'?"

"You just kind of said it like, you know...like you have some personal experience," Scott added.

"Please don't tell me what I think you're about to tell me," Natasha put in. And oh no. No, no, Natasha did not sound distressed about this. Like it was real. Like it was worth entertaining as anything more than a seasonally appropriate joke.

Bucky tried to harden his face into a more resolute and annoyed expression, but he was clearly feeling pretty defensive. "Oh, well excuse me, it's not like I asked to be possessed _,_ just like I didn't ask for a metal arm _,_ or a super soldier serum _,_ or to know what it's like for your tongue to freeze to the back of your teeth." He emphasized the pertinent words with air quotes, bottle still in one hand, and Sam stared at him.

"This is a great joke you guys," Scott said. He laughed nervously, glancing around at the others to get a bead on what this conversation was all about. But Sam was still recovering from what had potentially just been revealed to them, Natasha looked livid, and Wanda looked shocked which was the most terrifying thing about all this because she could know exactly whether or not Bucky was telling the truth. "A-plus work."

Natasha was suddenly on her feet, the movie completely forgotten. "James, I swear to God, if you're being serious-"

"Oh what you think I'm lying? Because my life isn't screwed up enough you think I need to add a demonic possession on there?"

"What in the hell-" Sam couldn't help the curled lip and disbelief that came over him as he spoke automatically. He didn't often turn off his mental filter before speaking but he was not about to blame himself for doing so for a conversation like this.

"Why would you not tell everyone about this?" Natasha demanded through gritted teeth. She was actually gesturing, throwing out her arms. She never did things like that unless she'd been pushed to her limits. It made Sam's heart beat a little quicker than he liked.

Bucky seemed stung by that but just got even more defensive, crossing his arms and turning away from her slightly. "Because it's not a big deal!"

"We're sharing a roof with a thing that wants to eat the souls of the living!" Natasha shouted and Sam couldn't help it if his eyes bugged out a little. She didn't shout like that, not for a joke. Natasha's jokes were the kind so subtle you ended up pulling them on yourself. They weren't loud or showy or bombastic like this.

"It doesn't want to eat the souls, just own them, there's a difference," Bucky argued back like they were disagreeing over which bar to hit up, not, well, _demons._

"Why is this happening," Scott said, eyes unfocused as he struggled to absorb what was going on around him.

"It's really not that serious," Bucky persisted.

"The hell it isn't!" Sam shouted, getting to his feet beside Natasha. He didn't care if this all turned out to be a prank and they'd pick at him later. He had seen aliens in New York. Robot uprising in Sokovia. Shadow governments. A kid bit by a radioactive spider who didn't just die of leukemia weeks later. The world was a messed up place so why shouldn't demons be real? And if they were, he did not want to be sharing a living space with a guy allegedly possessed by one.

"Are you dead?" Bucky asked like he was being ridiculous.

"Not yet but who knows!"

"Okay, well, there you go. I've been here for like, seven months now and nobody's been hurt right? So what're you freaking out about?"

Then the shouting in Russian began. Sam wasn't good enough to follow it, catching a familiar word here or there but it wasn't enough to remotely understand the conversation between Bucky and Natasha. He thought for sure they were about to come to blows about this. Natasha did throw her beer at him in a fit of anger, but he knew she did that with the knowledge that Bucky would absolutely catch it. Which he did, setting it down on the counter in front of him and saying nothing else. He just took a breath through his nose. Natasha turned her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest and dropping into her chair heavily.

"Um," Scott said after a moment of awkward silence. "So, right, is this-?"

"It's true," Natasha all but spat, refusing to look back at Bucky. He was trying to balance Natasha's beer bottle on top of his own. "This idiot was possessed by a demon under Hydra's supervision and didn't think for a second that any of us might want to know about it."

The idiot in question sighed but said nothing, apparently still recovering from the verbal beatdown Natasha had just given him that Sam was, unfortunately, unable to understand a word of.

"Okay. Are you guys being serious?" Sam asked. He'd never put too much stock into things like demons being real. He sometimes still wavered on whether or not the afterlife was a thing, his faith being pretty thoroughly tested after his time in the service and Riley's death. And now someone he trusted very highly was telling them not only were demons real, one of their roommates was possessed by one.

"Yeah," Bucky said, a bit meekly, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"To what end?" Wanda asked. She seemed uncertain whether she should ask at all but Sam got the curiosity.

Bucky shrugged. "I don't know. Think it's Hydra's whole fetish for the squid thing. You know, the guy," here Bucky paused and held his wrist up to his mouth while wriggling his fingers like tentacles. "I guess they had me there and were like, 'oh yeah this'll be great'. I don't really remember a lot of the details."

No one spoke for a minute while Bucky took another swig of his beer. Because really, what the hell do you say to that shit?

"You're remarkably chipper about it," Scott said finally. Natasha was staring at a spot on the ground like something was going to crawl out of it. Hell, maybe it would given the recent revelations here.

Bucky shook his head. "I can't make it go away so why get worked up over it?"

"Because it's a demon, James," Natasha said finally like she was at the end of her rope. "It's a demon and Halloween is coming and you have no Hydra to keep it in check."

Bucky opened his mouth like he had a response. Then his brows came together and he cocked his head a little and narrowed his eyes. "Oh."

"What's that mean, keep it in check? Why?" Scott asked quickly.

"Again, I'm a little unsure of the details. But you know how there's that day where it's the same amount of day as night? Well it's because of where the Earth and Sun are positioned right? So it's the same thing with other dimensions. Sometimes they're far away from each other and way harder to travel between. Other times they're closer and easier to move through. The end of October is like that. So every year Hydra did stuff to keep, um, the guy-" Again Bucky made the gesture with his wrist over his mouth and his fingers wagging. "-from, I don't know, taking my soul and using my body for whatever it wanted. But I guess I didn't think about how this was my first October without them around to do that."

"When the hell were you planning on doing something about that?!" Sam shouted.

Bucky's eyes dropped back down to the counter and he brought his right hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "I was gonna get around to it..."

Sam waved his arms dramatically like he could ward off both the demon and Bucky's stupidity all at once. "No! You 'get around to' getting your oil changed! You 'get around to' fixing the squeaky hinges on the front gate! You do not 'get around to' exorcising a demon somebody else put on your ass! God damn man! If you aren't gonna think about yourself, at least think about us!"

"Not it!" Natasha shouted suddenly, and everyone looked at her because she had to have done that for a damn good reason.

Sam stared at her and shook his head slowly. "Don't you dare."

"Someone has to tell Steve. And I already said-"

"Not it!" Scott cried seconds before Bucky did. Sam got it out just after Bucky, which left Wanda, who was looking at them like they were all insane. And given the conversation they'd just had, maybe they were.

"What are you doing this for?" she asked.

"It's 'not it'," Bucky said. "Whoever says it last gets stuck doing what no one wants to do. So that means you have to tell Steve about this."

Wanda crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him like he was being a petulant child. And okay, he was. But Sam wasn't about to spend too much of his time trying to change that. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature. You don't fight a hurricane, you just board up your windows and hope for the best. "That is absurd. It is not my responsibility-"

"Sorry, that's how the game works," Scott said. Probably because he didn't want to get bullied into doing it since he was the newest Avenger.

"You think a man's immortal soul is a game?" she shot back.

"I don't mind," Bucky chimed in.

"No, Wanda's right, this is unfair," Natasha said and the woman in question nodded. Then she sighed heavily and dropped her eyes to her lap when Natasha continued: "If she doesn't know the rules of the game she can't be expected to play by them. Sam, you were last, so you're it."

Sam shook his head. "The hell I am! Last is last!"

"Not if you don't even know what's going on," Natasha argued.

"Steve likes Wanda! He probably won't even yell when she tells him about it," Sam tried.

"Why don't you simply tell Steve that Bucky has something important to tell him? This way Bucky can not avoid the situation, and we can be present to ensure he tells Steve what needs to be said," Wanda offered. All of them were silent because obviously that was the most mature, rational way to do things. And they were mature, rational people. For the most part.

"Well, when you put it that way," Scott said.

"I like 'not it' better," Bucky mumbled under his breath, drumming his fingers on the counter top.

"And I'm the one they still call a kid," Wanda said with a world weary sigh.

Natasha looked over her shoulder at Bucky, the edge of outrage gone from her face replaced with her usual passive expression. Sam didn't think for a second that meant she was done being upset about this. "Think of us as moral support."

Bucky shot her an annoyed look. "If you're so supportive, why don't you tell him?"

"Because I'm not that supportive."

"Traitor."

"Literal minion of Satan."

"Hey!" Bucky snapped. "You don't know it's Satan! It could be anybody!"

"Yeah, I know if I was possessed, it'd matter a whole lot which devil it actually was," Natasha said, leaving the couch to get a new drink. Bucky had started in on the beer she threw at him and Sam didn't know about her, but he wouldn't drink after somebody possessed by the devil.

Sam hadn't really thought over the details yet and really, he didn't even want to. Was Satan really possessing Bucky? It'd explain a lot, right? Like how he could be so unbearably annoying sometimes? But then Sam figured Satan probably had better things to do than follow someone like Bucky around. What was there to learn from that? How many funny animal videos could Satan handle watching in a row?

"It does matter because-" Bucky froze suddenly, eyes widening marginally in that way they did when he was back on high alert. Sam felt himself tense.

But then Friday announced helpfully, "Captain Rogers has returned."

Sam knew that he and the rest of the team had their differences. They could probably argue about something for an entire year if they all stayed dedicated to it. But sometimes, they were all on the same wavelength and it could really be a beautiful thing. Like right now? As soon as Friday's informative announcement sank into their brains, they all bolted from the room, Natasha shoving Bucky towards the corridor they could already hear Steve heading down. Sam didn't look back, but he could imagine the bewildered expression on Bucky's face and it served him right for springing this heavy, screwed up shit on them right around Halloween.

"Oh damn it you guys, come on!" Bucky shouted at them as they scattered, but Sam had put a decent amount of distance between them so he felt safe. He had to hold on to that feeling while he could because he was getting the distinct impression it wasn't going to last.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey Sam?"

His first instinct was to shout _I'm not here._ And that was an admittedly stupid knee-jerk reaction. Not only because Friday could tell Steve that he was, in fact, here, but also because duh. His second instinct was to pretend he'd gone to sleep already. It wasn't even ten yet. Steve would still probably leave him alone if he didn't answer, but then Sam would feel a little guilty because Steve was a good guy and didn't deserve that kind of treatment. And beyond that, Sam knew what he was here to ask about. If the conversation wasn't had now, it'd just happen the next morning, or at lunch. Sam couldn't avoid Steve forever, even if he kind of wanted to fly his ass back to DC and pretend he'd never met any of these crazy people.

So he took a breath before getting up to open his door. It was just Steve there, Steve and his ever-present expression of concern. There was always something bugging the guy, even more so since Bucky came back to him. Which he guessed was understandable. Aside from all the Hydra shit, there were a lot of unresolved issues between the two that Steve never talked to anyone about and that Bucky was totally oblivious of.  
  
Sam wasn't quite sure what to say now given the talk Steve probably just had with Bucky. If they'd actually had it, anyway. But Steve always had words, even when everyone else was at a loss. These were simple enough. "Mind if I come in to talk with you about something?"

"Sure, yeah," he said, moving aside to let Steve in. He glanced out into the hall. Not that he was looking for anything. Maybe it was just habit. He shut the door, figuring if Steve didn't want to speak in the doorway he'd probably appreciate another measure of privacy. Sam wasn't _,_ by any means, the group's resident therapist. He didn't make a habit of turning his room into an office for everybody to come lay down their inner turmoils. Most of them wouldn't even do that with him if he offered anyway, either too emotionally stunted, too insecure, or just too plain scared to speak that kind of stuff out loud to begin with. But he tended to make time for Steve and it never felt like work because it never felt like a one way street. Steve shared his problems with Sam and Sam shared his problems with Steve and that's how friendships usually worked.

Steve was also very to the point, and Sam appreciated that. "Bucky had a lot of...weird things to tell me today."

"He's on the damn internet too much. I told you to get some parental controls on there." He didn't want to deceive his friend by pretending not to know what this was about already. But he also kind of didn't know what to think about the whole thing just yet. So the only middle ground he could think of was a joke, and to let Steve take the lead.

Steve snorted but shook his head. "No it's a different kind of weird. He thinks he's possessed by a, uh, a demon." Like Sam said, Steve was direct. Most people would think about feeling that sentence out with a  _hey so have you ever thought about the afterlife?_ and winding their way down to the subject that way. Instead, Steve said the word not like it was necessarily the most ridiculous thing he heard, but more like a change of pace from the usual strangeness that orbited them as a group of people. Like _Clint started sharing his_ pasta _with Lucky instead of his_ pizza, _weird right?_

Sam shrugged slowly. He hadn't thought twice about believing Bucky because of Hydra's occult dealings combined with Natasha's terrifyingly immediate acceptance of it. Like it was feasible, or even likely that Bucky had been subjected to something like this. If anyone had knowledge of what Hydra was capable of, it was her, given the Red Room's history of cooperating with them. "Okay. What if he is?"

Steve outright laughed because yeah that was probably the stupidest response Sam could've given.

Sam rubbed at his eyes and dove right in. "Look. He told us all about it earlier, before you got home." Steve's grin faded slightly, but stubbornly remained as if waiting to resurge at the punchline. "And you know I wouldn't believe it just like that because, yeah, he's not the most-" Sam looked for a word that wouldn't bother Steve. He failed. "Not the most coherent individual among us, which is saying something."

"I'm aware. So why would you believe him? I'm concerned his mental health's taking a nosedive or something."

"Natasha's reaction," he answered, just as direct as Steve. Steve's brows twitched towards each other, so Sam explained. "She took it so seriously. And I mean she's kind of been my compass for some of the crazier shit Bucky has claimed or ways he's behaved. Out of anybody here, she's come closest to having lived what he's lived."

Steve was quiet while he considered that. They both knew Natasha's sense of humor was pretty dry and didn't lend itself to making fools out of potentially mentally ill people. That just wasn't something she did, so the idea that she was playing along with a pathologically delusional Bucky for some kind of joke was one neither of them entertained. Same for this being a big joke they were in on together. Bucky's humor was simultaneously at both ends of the spectrum: either so innocently stupid you rolled your eyes but still smiled, or so horrifically dark you didn't want to laugh so much as tell him to go take a day to pamper himself like he so clearly deserved. Beyond that, he generally had a hard time keeping a straight face when attempting lies, given Hydra's lessons on that. They didn't want their brainwashed soldier learning the fine art of deception. It'd only backfire on them. "She really took it to heart?" Steve asked finally, looking him in the eye. It was, after all, impossible to lie to Captain America.

Sam nodded. "Swear on my life, man. She was so serious and concerned about this it felt like I should be too." He didn't know what to do with the information, obviously. As Bucky had pointed out defensively, he'd been living here for months and nothing had happened. No...demon-stuff, whatever that might entail. But then there was all that talk about Halloween and October and the other world or whatever-Jesus, it felt so stupid to even try to think about it seriously, let alone to work out a potential game plan. "Look, maybe you should talk to her about it. She sounds like she knows more about this kind of thing. God only knows why." Natasha had a seemingly random assortment of odd knowledge. Sam figured it only seemed random to them because there was so much about herself she kept under a tight lid. Either way, she still had it and shared it when it was relevant. "Ask her to explain how and why and all that fun stuff. Watch Bucky for anything weird. If it is a mental health thing, there's bound to be other signs." 

"And if it's not?" Steve asked.

Sam sucked in a breath because hell if he had an answer for that. "Kinda relying on the Catholic in you to figure that one out."

* * *

Sam was a light sleeper. He really wished he wasn't. He probably wouldn't have woken up then. Probably could've kept on sleeping, maybe had a nice dream, normal sleeping stuff that normal people get to do, wake up feeling refreshed. No, instead, he woke up to what he was pretty sure had been a heavy thud. Something hitting the floor. Something about the size of a body, maybe. That got his heart rate up right away and he swung his legs over the edge of his bed to listen for more.

It was dead quiet.

Part of him wanted to believe the noise had been the tail end of a dream he couldn't remember. Another part of him felt the kind of dread that can only come from convincing yourself that there is someone who does not belong in your home wandering around out there in the dark. It made him feel helpless, which was admittedly kind of foolish. He was sharing a roof with a girl who could move shit with her mind, two supersoldiers, and various other deadly individuals. Anyone who broke in here to cause problems had to have some type of very specific death wish.

So he got up to his feet, walked to the door, and opened it.

And why shouldn't Bucky be there in a heap on the floor. Sam sighed, shuffling towards him while his heart rate slowed to something below caged hummingbird. "Hey man." Bucky wasn't a sleepwalker or anything, but he had a tendency to sleep in weird places. There'd been that first month where he always ended up under the kitchen table, often scaring the shit out of whoever woke up first on their way to the coffee machine. Then there was the closet incident that almost led to a Hulk outburst. The roof. The list went on, really, so 'the hall in front of Wanda's door' wasn't all that unusual in the grand scheme of things. "Bucky." Sam squatted next to him, shaking his shoulder. He sighed again, blatantly annoyed this time. "Man, come on, it's cold, I want to go to bed."

Bucky said something. Sam didn't catch it, but at least he was awake.

"Come on. Go back to your room. Somebody's gonna trip over your ass on the way to the toilet and that'll end well for no one."

"Sam?" Bucky rubbed his eyes and looked like he could hardly keep them open.

"Yeah?"

He looked around like the hallway had snuck up on him or something. "Sorry." Bucky climbed back up to his feet and pushed his hair out of his face.

"You good? Know where you are?"

Bucky nodded, looking for all the world like he was the one who'd been woken unfairly. He waved a hand and shuffled away towards his room.

"Great," Sam mumbled, heading towards his own. At least he went out and looked, right? He thought about why he'd woken up to begin with, the thud noise. What had fallen? Had Bucky seriously started sleep walking and ended up here? That couldn't be the start of anything good but he was a little too tired to figure it out now. He told himself to worry about it later, and tried to get some sleep. 

* * *

"Friday, do you have some surveillance footage from around, like four thirty? That's around when he woke me up."

"Certainly," she responded. The TV changed from the weather forecast to dark footage from exactly four thirty. Bucky was already on the ground in the hall and a few seconds passed before Sam appeared in frame.

Steve pursed his lips. "Friday, can you find when he actually went out there?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers." There was silence for a minute, the screen blank. Then the time-stamp jumped to one forty-five. Bucky shambled from one side of the place to the other, each step like he was walking through quicksand, an obstacle in and of itself, until he finally stopped outside Wanda's door. And he just stood there. For nearly three hours. A few minutes before four thirty, he suddenly dropped abruptly to the ground like someone had knocked him out cold. Shortly after, it all went down the way Sam remembered.

Sam took a moment to digest what he'd just seen. It seemed so familiar in a way and he had that tip-of-the-tongue feeling when Scott whispered in a dazed voice, "Paranormal Activity."

Steve glanced at him. "What?"

Sam shook his head at that and said abruptly, "No. I'm out of here. I'll fight robots. I'll fight Hydra. Hell, if the aliens come back ya'll can give me a call and I'll think about it. But no. I'm not gonna be the black guy in the horror movie."

Steve's face shifted into obvious confusion and Sam kind of forgot sometimes that Steve wasn't a hundred percent familiar with all the tropes of modern media. "What're you talking about? You know why he did that? I figured he's just sleep walking or something."

Sam held out a hand to quiet Steve. Scott pointed at the still of the now-empty hallway and said, "It's Paranormal Activity, Cap. It's like the movie. With the girl and the demon and-and she'd do this in the movie."

Steve raised an eyebrow like it was absurd. "You watch a movie where a girl stands and stares at a wall for three hours?"

Scott shook his head furiously. "No, it's not-That's just a part of what the demon makes her do! She wakes up at night and stands over her sleeping boyfriend...menacingly _._ "

"And that accomplishes what?" Steve asked.

Scott looked like he was searching for an explanation but wasn't really coming up with anything. To be honest, Sam didn't have a good answer to offer up either. Scott finally shrugged and looked at Steve as he said, "I don't know, but it's creepy, right?"

Steve sighed.

"He might be right," Sam said. It wasn't the first time he had to stick up for Scott, seeing as he was the one who kind of suggested him for recruitment. Dorky as he could be, it was refreshing to have somebody on the team who wasn't a dark ball of suppressed angst. Somebody normal, with no history of torture or brainwashing or experimentation, with a fairly healthy home life.

"You think Bucky came out into the hall to stare at Wanda's door for three hours on the off-chance we'd look up the surveillance footage the next day, just to be creepy?" Steve asked, again like it was just too far-fetched. And it was, but that wasn't what they were suggesting.

"You're thinking too literally," Sam said, sounding just as exasperated as Steve. "In the movie it was one of the signs she was possessed. It isn't Bucky deciding to go stand there, it's the demon." All in all he was pretty surprised with himself for how fast he'd come to terms with using that word in a casual breakfast conversation. He chose to believe this was a sign of him being adaptable, not gullible as hell.

"So you two would rather believe a demon thinks it's a worthwhile way to spend its time, just um, standing around _,_ rather than the far more likely scenario that Bucky's just sleepwalking?"

Sam and Scott exchanged glances because when Steve put it like that, they both sounded like lunatics. Friday was the last one Sam expected to stick up in their defense, largely because she tended to keep to herself unless directly called upon. "Excuse me for interrupting, Captain, but I did register a thermal anomaly surrounding Sergeant Putting the Ass in Asset throughout the incident."

"God damn it Tony," Steve muttered under his breath at the stupid title Tony had apparently programmed Friday to use for Bucky. Sam thought it was a pretty restrained title given Tony's tense relationship with Bucky, all things considered.

"Apologies, Captain," Friday said with such sympathy it made Sam snort. It was like she actually felt embarrassed for having to call Bucky that.

"It's okay, just, what do you have?" Steve said, unwilling to get hung up on the small distraction.

Friday replaced the regular, night-vision footage with thermal imaging. Warmer currents of air spilled lazily from the vents near the roof. The floor and walls were cooler. A big ball of warmth buried under the covers told them where Bucky was. The time stamp was a bit past one in the morning. Both Steve and Bucky had faster metabolisms that tended to make them human space heaters. The spot between them on the couch on these cold autumn mornings was becoming more coveted every day. But now it was like all the warmth that was Bucky was slowly being sucked away, or muffled. This went on until Bucky suddenly sat up at about one forty-five. "The temperature of the air around..." Could an AI hesitate? It sure seemed like it. "...the air around the sergeant settled at thirty-six degrees Fahrenheit and stayed that way until he was woken by Mr. Wilson three hours later." 

Sam remembered suddenly how cold the hallway had been. How badly he'd wanted to get back under his blankets and go to sleep. He hadn't really thought much of it, having spent too many winters back in DC trying to save money on heating whenever he could. But maybe that kind of cold had been worse than it should've been, considering the place was always kept at a pretty comfortable temperature. "Yeah, it was cold. I remember that." A sick sort of dread made his stomach feel suddenly empty. If this whole demon thing was real, that meant he'd been standing right there with it.

"Well, what's that have to do with anything?" Steve asked.

"It's a well-known fact that ghosts and demons and stuff make the air around them cold," Scott answered.

"Is it," Steve said more than asked. Because it really was kind of presumptuous to say anything about ghosts and demons was just common knowledge.

Scott seemed to at least understand that. He shrugged but dropped his eyes back to his bowl of cereal. "I just mean, if you watch horror movies, you'd know."

Again, Friday seemed to be on their side today, and she said, "A cursory search on the matter does seem to return the consistent claim of unusual disturbances in temperature. Some claim this is due to the amount of energy being consumed for the demonic presence to exert an influence over its host."

"Wouldn't that make things hotter?" Steve asked.

"Many of these sources are a bit too credulous to say the least," Friday conceded. "However, the information seemed relevant to your discussion, and I've yet to find a cause for the thermal anomaly experienced here last night."

Steve pressed his lips together, clearly still finding the whole thing ridiculous. "Well, thanks for trying at least. I just don't know if I'm ready to go right to 'demon', though. Please keep me updated if anything else strange goes on."  
  
Sam wasn't sure what would make Steve believe any of this, but he'd also be fine with never finding out. 


	3. Chapter 3

Another day passed without any terrible incidents. An exasperated Happy Hogan showed up with an excessively energetic Peter Parker at about six in the evening. Happy dumped the kid off on them then left. It was fall break apparently, and Peter was excited to spend it here. For whatever reason. Mostly people here just yelled at each other about inane bullshit until something drastic happened and reminded them they were supposed to be working together whether pineapples belonged on pizza or not. They did, by the way, and people needed to stop being dramatic about food so Sam could live his life in peace.

Bucky had done his sleep walker act again and this time Sam refused to go out there. And it was completely because it wasn't his job to baby a one hundred year old dude and not at all because of the oppressive, invasive thought that if he went in that hall, it wouldn't just be him and Bucky out there. Something else would be there too. Something undefinable, something terrifying, something invisible, filling him with dread. Didn't Sam have a right to stay in his warm, cozy bed and get some sleep? If everybody else in this place wanted to angst it out all night long and have anguished, sleepless nights, that was fine by him, but he valued these eight hours immensely and he wasn't letting any metal-armed, sedan-smashing assholes ruin that for him, demon-possessed or not.

Friday must've alerted Steve though because eventually Sam heard him out there before two pairs of footsteps padded off back down the hall. And Sam listened very closely and yes, it was Steve's voice and not some ghost or monster or Scooby-Doo here to pull off Bucky's mask to reveal he'd been some guy who owned a nearby failing amusement park this whole time.

Sunlight had a way of making you think anything that got to you during the night was dumb bullshit that you needed to get over and that's exactly what happened with Sam the following morning. Nothing crazy had happened, so of course the whole paranormal activity chat from a couple days prior felt stupid and embarrassing now. Everyone was still here and nobody was dying, even if Wanda had come down with the flu or something and wasn't feeling so great. A small part of Sam's mind was sort of surprised to find she could get sick, what with the telekinesis and mind altering powers and all that mess. But in the end he guessed the rest of her, including her immune system, was still normal enough and it was about that time of year. Sam brought her a bowl of soup around lunch time, because he liked Wanda well enough. Some of it may have had to do with not having experienced too much of the Ultron debacle, but he figured even if he had gone through it, she was still very young. If you never gave people a chance to fix what they'd done wrong, they'd just keep on doing wrong because what was the point of changing anything if everyone was still going to hate you for it anyway?

That was his thought process anyway.

Steve was out with Natasha to bring Clint here. Clint said last time he'd spent Halloween at home he'd gotten into this whole thing with some guy Sam had never heard of in a red get-up. Rickshaws were involved at one point. He was fuzzy on the details, but the point was, Clint wasn't putting up with that again so he figured it was best to get away from the city. 

That left Sam with Scott and Bucky. The pair in question were playing ping-pong, though Sam didn't know why Scott bothered. Bucky had superhuman reflexes, and even when he tried to move slower to have a fair game, he couldn't help throwing himself whole-hog into beating the shit out of you. Something about seventy years of being drilled into doing everything as perfectly and successfully as possible. Sam wasn't sure, didn't care, he used ping-pong with Bucky to peg him with the ball the whole time, claiming he was just trying to spike it at the edge of the table and if it hit him in the stomach or arm or face instead it was not intentional at all. Really. 

And that's why he'd called winner.

He'd kind of zoned out of the pinging and ponging and trash talking. He was this close to getting 2048 and quite frankly, that was probably more intellectually stimulating than anything coming out of Bucky or Scott's mouth. And it was an unwritten rule here that you only played 2048 when Tony wasn't around because he'd do that smug little laugh if he saw you playing it and you just knew he'd already solved the whole damn game before you'd even gotten five moves in and was judging you for making a wrong move.

Vaguely, he noticed the pinging and ponging had stopped after someone had dropped their paddle on the table with a clattering sound. He didn't look up, even when Scott asked, "Hey, you okay?" because Sam didn't care. He really didn't. Not when 2048 was so close.

But then of course it all got worse and Sam had to pay attention. He felt his nose wrinkle when he registered what that sudden, gross noise was and he sat up and covered his ears. "Whoa! Whoa!" Sam screwed his eyes shut because vomit got to him. It got to him in a way he wasn't proud of, like he felt like kind of a wuss, but he couldn't do vomit. He'd seen men die, but he could not watch them puke and he didn't know what that said about him.

"Ugh," he heard Bucky say. Then he spat. Sam tried not to let those noises reverberate in his brain because the next nearest toilet was far enough away that he might not make it.

"Oh man, is that red stuff blood?" Scott asked. Why the hell was he in there taking a look?

"No, I think it's red peppers," Bucky said. Then he gagged again before puking some more. "See, that's blood, the black kind of-" More puking and Sam had to go into the hall before he started himself. "-ugh, spattery stuff. Tastes worse too."

He heard Scott made a small noise, a note of uncertainty. "You are way too casual about every horrible thing that happens to you."

"Well what can you-" More puking. "-do?"

"I don't know. I figured I'd cry a little. Beg. Bargain. Something other than shotgun beers until the home shopping network got hilarious."

"The fucking stuff they sell on there, Scott, you don't know! _"_  And a little more puking for good measure. Sam cringed and peered back around the threshold of the door. He could see the bathroom from this angle. Bucky's shoulders had suddenly stiffened, and Sam swore he heard something crack.

"Whoa, hey," Scott said, glancing at the toilet bowl. A fracture was running from the rim towards the bowl where Bucky's left arm clenched it tightly. Bucky didn't seem to care about that, an entirely too focused look on his face. "You okay? Or..?"

Bucky didn't respond for a moment. Sam took a step back inside the room to get a better look at him, trying desperately to avoid getting a glimpse of the mess. Bucky didn't seem to be entirely present, eyes vacant and fixed on the upturned seat in front of him. It was kind of reminding Sam of how he'd been when Steve first brought him back, the way he'd zone out when he wasn't being personally addressed. Sam was about to say something when finally, Bucky screwed his eyes shut, dipped his head forward, and opened his mouth. He expected more gross gagging noises and he turned away in anticipation of that. But they never came. Not even any kind of dry heaving. It was unnervingly quiet, so of course he had to look.

And he stared, disgust and shock fighting to be expressed through his furrowed brows and parted mouth. Something thin and prickly, like a pipe cleaner, slipped out of Bucky's mouth. Then another. Bucky made a gagging noise, and Sam really wanted nothing more than to bolt right then and there but he couldn't bring himself to move. He had to verify this was the life he was living right now. He had to see that what was coming out of Bucky's mouth was what he thought it was.

"This is a thing that's happening," Scott said in a stunned voice, wide eyes fixed on Bucky. Because where the hell else would they be looking right now? At the very least, it reassured Sam that he wasn't hallucinating this.

Bucky made another retching noise, and if Sam hadn't just gone completely insane, a spider the size of his palm had just crawled out of Bucky's mouth. They were all silent for a minute, Sam and Scott looking at Bucky in case more random bugs decided to fall out of him, Bucky staring at the thing that had just plopped into the toilet. Nobody said anything for a moment, Bucky's quiet panting the only sound in the room.

Then there was a sloshing noise, and Sam registered Bucky's left hand dipping into the toilet bowl. Scott blinked, coming back to whatever was left of their rapidly deteriorating reality and stammered, "That-oh, that's not sanitary."

Bucky didn't seem to care. He held the fuzzy, brown-black spider in his left hand just tightly enough to keep it from crawling away, though its two front legs wiggled anyway. He turned it this way and that, studying it like he might be able to figure out how it'd just crawled out of his god damn throat.The absurdity of it all caught up to Sam, smacking him in the face, and he blurted, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to come up with a name for her."

Sam made a noise, somewhere between a snort and a very, not at all amused bark of laughter. He threw up his hands and turned away as he said, "Okay, I'm done." He shook his head to no one, heading down the hall towards the kitchen. Not that he felt like eating anything now or ever again. It just wasn't a bathroom reeking with the smell of fresh vomit, so it'd do. "Crazy ass shit I put up with in this house," he muttered. "Throw up a god damn spider, talkin' about, 'what am I gonna name it', I can not _-"_

"Hey, you okay?"

He looked up. At the table, Peter was there, messing with something on one of Tony's fancy holographic tablet things. The image being projected made him vaguely recall his own high school chemistry class and he thought it might be homework. "No," Sam said.

"Can I help?"

"Can you explain to me why I just saw a spider crawl out of a dude's mouth? And then instead of being horrified he picked it up out of the toilet and wondered what he should call it?"

Peter stared. No one had told him about Bucky and his problem. So for a minute, Sam could relish in someone being the appropriate amount of freaked out as they should be when they heard something like that. "Uh, what?"

"Sam! Sam I've got it!" Sam sighed angrily when he heard Bucky jogging down the hallway and calling for him. "Charlotte! I don't know why it took me so long to think of that, but it's the obvious choice in retrospect." He was smiling, honest to God smiling _,_ like he was excited about this. He held the giant ass spider in question up, cupping it with both hands now, beaming like it was a puppy.

Peter gave a startled cry, jumping out of his chair a little. "Are you serious?"

Bucky looked at him and blinked. "About what?"

"You're just-just holding that thing? What if it bites you?"

Bucky shrugged. "Whatever, it's fine." Then, like he'd just realized something profound: "Are you afraid of spiders?"

"No," Peter said and he sounded awfully defensive. "But I think they're kind of, not pet material, exactly?"

Bucky sputtered. "What kind of guy has the nerve to call himself Spider-manbut doesn't even like spiders?"

Sam threw Bucky a bewildered look because how the hell had this become the hot topic? "You just vomited up a damn tarantula and you're out here asking us why we don't like spiders? Why are you not more concerned? What else're you going to puke up and try to keep in a tank on a desk?"

"How's that saying go? About life giving you lemons and you make a pie or whatever?" Again Bucky shrugged and scratched the spider with one finger. All of its legs drew in towards its body at once. "I just think it's a little misleading to name yourself after something you don't like. I mean, what, are you going to tell me next, you actually hate birds? Is the Hulk actually really small? Is Tony's suit even made of iron? There's enough confusing stuff in the world. You guys should be setting examples, not making it worse."

"C-could we, um, back up here a little?" Peter asked, gesturing at the spider. "Are you guys-Like, that for real came out of you? And you're okay with this?"

"It's not the worst thing I've ejected from my body," Bucky said with a shrug as he wandered over to one of the cupboards. He held the spider in one hand and started going through the dishes with the other. "I mean, I am missing an arm." Sam knew he shouldn't have considered it a relief that Bucky didn't try to make a nasty joke about Taco Bell, but it'd been a fucked up day.

"But you know it's not exactly normal to throw up a spider?" Peter continued. The fact that he was pressing Bucky about conventions was evidence enough that Peter hadn't spent a ton of time around here. Which was fair. This was no place for kids who had bright futures ahead of them.

Bucky stopped, huffing a breath as if this conversation was starting to annoy him a little. He pointed at Peter. "You climb walls." He pointed at Scott, who had finally joined the freak show in the kitchen. "He shrinks and talks to ants." He pointed at Sam. "He dresses like a bird. Nobody here is normal, okay?" With that said, he turned back to the cabinets, this time going through the ones under the counter until he found whatever he was looking for. A tupperware container, apparently. He set it on the counter.

"If I dress like a bird, you dress like the damn hardware section of a K-Mart, with your fake stainless steel arm," Sam shot back.

"Wow, sounds like your feathers are all ruffled," Bucky answered, pulling out the box of plastic wrap from one of the drawers. "What's the letter of the day on Sesame Street you giant yellow bastard?"

"It's A, for Annoying. Agitation. Antique. Ancient. Asshole."

"Come on guys," Scott said, attempting to maintain peace in a world where peace was never an option. "Let's reel it back. Stay focused on the issue here." His eyes were on Sam when he nodded at Bucky, who was depositing the spider in the tupperware.

"Man!" Sam snapped as he realized finally what was going on. "People eat out of those things!"

Bucky tugged the plastic wrap over it quickly before turning to look at Sam like an agitated teenager, eyes widening in mockery as he said like it was obvious, "I'm going to wash it after!" Then he took a knife from the block on the counter and started poking a few air holes in the plastic. He turned the container slightly, leaning back a little to get a better view. "It'll just be until I can get her a real living space."

"So, do you want to talk at all about how or why this is possible?" Scott asked.

Bucky picked up the tupperware-which Sam was definitely throwing out after this was all said and done-and walked towards the living room. As he passed Scott, he stopped and put a hand on his shoulder. Scott tensed, eyes fixed on the spider. Sam wasn't sure if spiders ate ants all that often, but he figured when you're as small as one, spiders probably take on a whole new level of scary. "Scott, when you've lived a life as long and as fucked up as mine, you learn it's not worth your time to ask why things happen to you. You just run with them, okay?"

"Yeah but I just mean scientifically speak-"

Bucky just made a long  _shhhh_  noise as he walked away.

"But your health could be-"

The  _shhh_ continued, fading as Bucky got further from them until they couldn't hear him anymore. Sam breathed an irritated sigh and crossed his arms. Scott looked concerned. And Peter was glancing at the two of them nervously, like he was unsure if they should be doing something or just minding their own business after all. "So, uh," Peter said. He shrugged. "That kind of thing happen often around here?"

"Usually we just make androids and fight aliens," Sam said flatly.

"This is part of the whole paranormal activity," Scott said. He held a fist to his lips, his other hand cupping his elbow. It all at once struck Sam how ridiculous it was for Scott to look so pensive over something so damn absurd. "I just know it."

Sam stared at him for a moment and hoped Scott could feel the exasperation radiating from him. "Oh really? I thought maybe there was some non-supernatural reason somebody might puke up a spider."

"Maybe he ate it," Peter offered. Sam didn't hide his disgust at the suggestion. "I mean it's like that David Blaine trick, where he throws up a live frog?"

Pushing aside Sam's instinctive disgusted reaction to a magic trick that involved swallowing small animals whole, he said, "I know only one way of getting him to tell us if he did something that messed up or not." He fished out his phone and unlocked it, hesitating briefly as he stared at the screen which now displayed his text conversations with Steve. The most recent messages had been about how food that is labeled spicy, even at restaurants, is more often than not, not spicy at all, and they'd been trying to work out why that was. A normal conversation. A nice conversation. He was about to ruin that forever, all because of Bucky. "Call me a giant yellow bastard," Sam muttered as he typed a message to Steve. They'd all been waiting for a sign that they needed to do something. Sam felt it was safe to say this was it.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve responded to Sam's message about the spider with what amounted to 'put up or shut up'. He was politely telling Sam he believed this was a joke and wasn't falling for it. So it didn't really surprise Sam when his phone rang instantly after sending a picture of the spider in the tupperware. Bucky had taken it with him into the common room to watch TV, fearing that "she might be lonely in the dark" if he just left her in his room. Not like it had presumably just been chilling in his damn stomach or anything.  
  
Sam hated this place. He hated it so much.  
  
"What is going on?" Steve asked before Sam even had a chance to get out a mildly smug 'hello'.  
  
"Exactly what I told you in my text."  
  
"That's impossible. Where did the bug come from?"  
  
Before Sam could answer he heard an agitated sigh from Bucky. "Please tell that moron that spiders are arachnids, not _bugs._ "  
  
"Tell him your own damn self," Sam shot back. Into the phone, he continued, "I told you where it came from, man. Believe me or not but it's what happened."  
  
"Can you put Bucky on the phone please?" Steve asked and Sam could envision him on the other end, drawing a hand over his face and sighing. Not with the level of panic he should have been experiencing if he were a normal person. No. A spider crawling out of your best friend's throat was just something to be _agitated_ over.  
  
Sam did as Steve asked, kicking Bucky in the shoulder to get his attention. Bucky gave him a withering look before glancing at the phone and rolling his eyes dramatically. He took the phone and said, "What?"  
  
Sam's hearing wasn't as sharp as Bucky's, so he couldn't really make out the other half of the conversation.   
  
"So what?"   
  
Sam strained but couldn't hear the response, though he was able to tell that Steve's voice had risen a little, the words coming a bit quicker than they had before.  
  
"Steve I threw up for like two weeks straight before I got used to real food again and I turned out _fine."  
  
_ Sam stared at Bucky, as if he could bore directly into his mind and figure out whether or not he was being serious.   
  
"So? She's cute anyway. I'll show you when you get-" A pause. "Yeah I'm keeping her? Where else is she going to go? Tarantulas aren't native to New York, Steve. She'll get eaten by-" Bucky's face slowly shifted into one of annoyance, lips pressing together and brows descending. "What're you, my mother? If I want to keep a spider I can keep a spider! ....So what if I threw her up! She still-"   
  
At that point Steve must've gone on some kind of rant, because Bucky kept quiet for more than a few seconds. His eyes wandered slowly back to the television screen where Ghostbusters was still playing. Sam reached for the remote and turned it off, trying to force Bucky to pay attention to whatever Steve was telling him. Bucky instead looked at Sam like he'd just wounded him and Sam just shrugged.   
"I don't know," Bucky mumbled finally. "I guess. If you really think I should. I'm not going to be happy about it, though."   
  
Sam recognized easily Bucky's mumbly puppy dog voice that usually got Steve to give him whatever he wanted. At first, the concept of manipulation had eluded Bucky completely, which was horrifically tragic given his life. But soon enough, he'd learned that Steve tended to relent or surrender when his voice got that sad, defeated tone to it, and eventually he'd started busting it out for things as trivial as taking out the garbage when it was raining outside and he didn't feel like getting wet. It was, Sam had to admit, a remarkable turn around.   
  
Steve must've known more about this tactic than Sam had given him credit for, though. "I'm not using _a voice,_ " Bucky responded vehemently, cheeks turning red at having been caught and called out. "No I'm not!" He was a shitty liar. "You know I just don't like doctors okay! ...I don't have spider eggs in my stomach! That's stupid and impossible because the stomach acid would kill the spiders. I told you it's a demon!" Sam was the one to draw a hand over his face at that because really? Like being possessed by a demon was somehow less horrible and more likely than maybe accidentally eating bug eggs that were living on a piece of produce. "Fine. ....I said _fine._ Yes, really. Okay whatever bye."  
  
Bucky ended the call and Sam felt that familiar tension combined with a spike of annoyance when it looked like Bucky was about to toss the phone away. But then he hesitated like he'd remembered it wasn't his and he held it out to Sam. Sam took it. "Well?"  
  
"Well what? It's none of your business," Bucky muttered, turning Ghostbusters back on.   
  
"Asshole," Sam shot back without much heat.   
  
"Bird face," Bucky resonded with some difficulty, an awkward pause between the words as he came up with a different noun to attach to the ubiquitous bird comment. Sam considered it a victory as he left the room.   
  
He spent the next couple of hours trying to forget about the whole incident. Lunch came around and he made himself a sandwhich and had _intended_ to pair it with some chips. But the bag that was so deceptively left in the cubbard was basically only crumbs because one of his considerate housemates didn't want to commit to having finished the bag. So he was forced to eat something healthy instead, like fruits and vegetables. A travesty.  
  
Soon after finishing his own lunch, he thought of Wanda, who he'd made some food for that morning. He tapped on her door a couple times but received no answer. He didn't want to bother her when she was sick and probably sleeping it off. If she wasn't answering by dinner time he'd have Friday check on her. You couldn't beat the flu if you didn't give your body fuel to do it with, after all.   
  
The day got a little more normal, given its horrifying start. Sam got forty-five minutes of cardio in before he got bored with it. Steve made it through three hour runs by listening to audio books but Sam just couldn't stay focused on something like that for so long. After a quick shower, he entertained himself by watching Peter and Scott scare themselves half to death with a horror video game. It was amusing to hear them jump and curse, especially since Sam wasn't playing and felt no investment in it. Even if he was, he wasn't sure he'd react quite like they did. So what if some undead redneck busted through the wall at his character? It was a game, and his real, actual life had been way scarier than being trapped with zombie white trash.   
  
After awhile, Sam made an attempt at reading. Okay, maybe it wasn't anything serious, but Ta-Nehisi Coates writing a comic book was not something he could pass up. Regardless of how arduous the content was, he didn't get far into it because sure enough, Bucky had to be an annoying little shit and make it impossible to concentrate. The first whir of the blender was something Sam could ignore. The second earned a small sigh. The third, combined with the clink of glass and a rushed, _"shit!"_ got a full blown sigh plus eye roll. The fourth had him on his feet and heading for the kitchen.   
  
It wasn't that Sam required complete silence. He was used to focusing in fairly chaotic atmospheres, making it through an underfunded high school in a bad neighborhood, moving onto pararescue, and now living _here_. But it was Bucky making the noise, and the little groans and curses punctuating the noise of the blender told a story that could only end in Sam having to help him fix things and clean up the mess he was making.   
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Sam asked when he laid eyes on Bucky and his current project. There was an array of ingredients on the counter by the sink: vodka, a couple different flavored liquers, a tub of ice cream, sprinkles, a can of ReddiWhip, and an open box of premade cake mix. These things were also dusted or dripped in various places on the counter, reminding Sam of the trails on pirates' maps in movies, only the X that marked the spot was a treasure trove of bullshit instead of anything worth finding.   
  
"I saw these drinks on a Twitter video and I promised Clint I'd make them for him next time he came by," Bucky answered distractedly, focusing on measuring things exactly. Bucky had a Twitter, only no one had known about it for months, not even Steve. Okay, maybe Sam should've rephrased it. Roughly one point two million people knew about it, just, no one knew it was run by Bucky. Bucky used the account to tweet nothing but pictures of dogs he had seen along with fairly succinct, uncomplicated comments such as "a good one" or "pretty nice dog today". It was aptly titled "The Daily Dog". Sam hate followed it, because of course the dogs were cute as hell but he wasn't going to admit he enjoyed it one-hundred percent and instead took snipes at the less than stellar photography skills of the account's owner.   
  
"Do you have to use the blender that many times or do you just enjoy being as annoying as possible?" Sam asked.   
  
"The directions say _blend until smooth._ But it's not smooth yet and I have to keep checking."  
  
"Oh my God just blend it once for a long time!" Sam griped, unable to believe that Bucky had complicated the act of blending ice cream and cake batter.   
  
Actually, he could, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.  
  
"But it says not too blend it too much," Bucky snapped back defensively. Bucky was still kind of a slave to following directions, getting visibly irritated with recipes that called for 'a pinch' of something or the most dreaded non-directive at all, to season a thing 'to taste'. He and Vision had once griped about this to each other.  
  
"Nothing bad will happen if you blend it too much."  
  
"It might get too...melty too fast," Bucky said absently. "Then I have to add more vodka, because it'll get watered down. But then if I add more vodka, I have to add more everything, because the sugar is supposed to help cover the taste of the vodka. But then if I add more everything I have to blend it again and-"  
  
"Okay, I get it, stop," Sam said before the babbling loop of stupid could complete itself. But also, the more he looked at the soon-to-be booze milkshake, the more appetizing it looked and if he played his cards right, Bucky would make him one, too.  
  
Friday announced then that Steve, Nat, and Clint were back. Finally. Not that Steve had even been gone for all that long but of course everything felt like an eternity when people were out here puking up spiders and complaining about demonic possessions. Sam counted himself as a capable person. He could hold his own in a fight, as evidenced by his place on the Avengers. But he still always felt a little safer knowing Steve was nearby. Like if any problems came up, he'd know just what to do. And of course, problems _always_ came up.  
  
They exchanged greetings as they came in and Bucky carefully avoided direct eye contact with Steve as he did so. Lucky for him Clint opened his mouth before Steve got to. "The Funfetti Martinis!" he said, pointing at the mess being made on the counter. "You remembered!"  
  
The only was Bucky could be more obvious in his displays of emotions was if he had a tail he could be wagging. "I said I would," he answered with a smile.  
  
Steve raised an eyebrow at the array of ingredients. "That looks like diabetes waiting to happen."   
  
"Did they even have diabetes in your day, gramps?" Clint asked, slinging his bag down his arm to toss it to a couch in the other room.   
  
"You're asking a guy who lived his childhood in a hospital if he's heard of a disease," Sam put in.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, get your digs in, get it all out," Steve muttered with good humor, waving a hand. He cleared his throat then, eyes on Bucky. Bucky pointedly refused to look up from his work. "So, Bucky-"  
  
At the same exact time Steve began to speak, Bucky started the blender, looking Steve dead in the eye while he did it. If it was Sam in Steve's shoes, he would've thrown up his hands and told the demon, "You know what? He's _your_ problem now." But Steve had some kind of unending patience combined with the fiercest stubbornness Sam had ever witnessed in a man so in the end it was a good thing _he_ was Bucky's best friend.   
  
Instead of responding to Steve, Bucky stopped the blender and asked, "I mostly made these for me and Clint, but I think there is enough for-"  
  
"Man, there's enough for like ten people there," Sam interrupted.   
  
"I told you about the melting and watering down and the ratios," Bucky spat back defensively.  
  
"I'd like to try one," Natasha said. Bucky's face lit up at that.   
  
"Me too," Sam said, uncertain if he'd actually get one or not. Or if he did there might be spit in it or something. There was definitely enough there, so Bucky couldn't use that as an excuse to withhold it from him. He must've realized that because he begrudgingly grabbed an additional two glasses instead of just one.   
  
"I'll just try a little of one of yours," Steve said. "I don't think I'd drink a whole one. Too sweet. Don't know how you guys do it."  
  
"Sugar tastes good, that's how," Bucky answered. Then he carefully doled out four cups full of booze milkshake. Sam watched with some small amusement at how perfectly exact he was in pouring them, making sure each glass was completely level with no air bubbles or pockets to throw off the volume. Then he painstakingly added whipped cream. Finally, he gave each drink three shakes of brightly colored sprinkles. He stood up straight, looking over his work with a critical eye before his expression relaxed into contentment. He smiled, moving to the sink to rinse out measuring cups and spoons, and said, "I think that's as good-"  
  
There was some bizarre, guttural noise then, making Sam jerk back, tugging Nat with him protectively even if she was not an average woman and could undoubtedly kick his ass and the ass of whatever made that noise. It all happened in a matter of seconds, the noise, the fountain of blood spewing from the drain in the sink. It sprayed Bucky in the face, splattered back down on the counter and tile, and Sam barely had time to scream at the horror of what was happening before it just stopped all at once.   
  
Everyone was at a loss for a second, Sam still clutching Nat's arm like something else was going to shoot out of the sink, Clint taking in the scene with raised eyebrows and a frown, Nat tense and waiting to comprehend what just happened. Only Steve moved immediately. "Are you all right?" he asked on a breath, rushing to Bucky's side.  
  
Bucky stared, the whites of his eyes standing out starkly against the deep red blood covering his face, matting his hair to his skin. Sam could see clots of it rolling down his neck and he felt mildly nauseous at the sight. "I just got them right," Bucky said in a defeated voice.  
  
It was Steve's turn to stare. "You're concerned about the drinks."  
  
"They looked really great and now look at them," Bucky muttered, gesturing a bloodied hand. Sure enough, the formerly perfectly white, fluffy drinks were now sprayed in blood, ruining them.   
  
Steve closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. "Mystery blood just geysered out of the kitchen sink. And you're upset that it messed up your drinks."   
  
Bucky glanced at him defensively and responded, "I worked really hard on them, Steve."  
  
"You're hopeless," Nat muttered, crossing her arms.   
  
"I'm not remaking one for you," Bucky shot back, snatching the handtowel off the fridge and scrubbing at his face.   
  
"Come on, don't be that way," Clint said.   
  
Bucky relented almost immediately. His soft spot for Natasha was glaringly obvious and not at all difficult to manipulate. Natasha never did, of course. "Okay, fine, I will, but it won't be as nice as everyone else's."  
  
"Go take a shower, Bucky, Jesus," Steve practically ordered him, pointing back to the bathroom.   
  
"It's just the stupid demon, Steve," Bucky said in a light voice, almost like he thought Steve had said something idiotic but didn't have the heart to outright mock him for it. He headed for the bathroom all the same, not addressing the annoyed sigh from Steve that followed.  
  
"Uh, demon?" Clint asked.   
  
"We'll explain later," Nat answered discreetly, eyes on Steve to guage his reaction to Bucky's flippant response to a spontaneous fountain of blood erupting from the kitchen sink. "Let's clean this up first."  
  
"But we're still getting the Funfetti Martinis after, right?" Clint asked. He caught the towel Nat threw at him and his eyebrows raised when she didn't answer. "Right?"  
  
Not for the first time, Sam considered the endurance of his mental health and sanity should he continue to live with these people.   
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

"Demons, huh," Clint said like somebody had just told him some useless factoid he was entertaining for the sake of politeness. His eyes never left the task of measuring out his coffee.   
  
Steve and Natasha managed to explain the situation to Clint without sounding like complete lunatics. Sam was impressed, but then, if anyone could explain this situation seriously it'd be those two, the perpetually serious. Bucky supplied specifics when prodded, but he didn't seem happy about it, mumbling his way through the explanation about Hydra. Sam made him tell them about the spider, too and maybe that'd been a mistake. Bucky had taken it as an opprtunity to distract them from the bigger issue of _where_ exactly the spider had come from.   
  
Sam was happy to have Steve and Nat back though. They weren't going to let Bucky steer the conversation anywhere, the same way Bucky introduced himself to Sam by not letting Sam steer his own car anywhere, ever again.

 

" _Demon_. Singular. Please at least be accurate when discussing my medical history. You know, a thing everyone else gets to keep a secret by law except me, whose files get printed in the New York Times for everybody to gawk at," Bucky put in like he was stung about the exposure and not the god damn agent of Hell following him around and trying to drag his soul into a pit lined with corpses of the damned. Sam needed some new friends who were actually terrified of things that made sense.

 

Clint inhaled deeply through his nose and nodded slowly as he shook the carton of creamer. "Well, there's more embarrassing problems to have in your medical history I guess. And this isn't really medical. It's like, theological, I guess?" Clint pulled the cap off the creamer and tilted the carton to pour it into the coffee. But then an unseen hand swiped at the mug, sending it hurtling across the room and shattering against the cabinets. Sam wasn't going to lie to himself-it made him jump. And why wouldn't it? Shit wasn't supposed to just fly off the countertop on its own like that. The creamer dribbled uselessly onto the counter where the mug had been and Clint muttered, "Aw, demon, no," before setting the carton back down.

  
"It's getting worse," Natasha said pointedly, leveling a serious look at Bucky.  
  
"I can clean it up, it's okay," Bucky answered, already mopping up the coffee puddled on the kitchen floor.   
  
"It's not about that," Steve said like it was obvious. And well, it _was._ Their issue was not with broken coffee mugs and cleaning up spills. It was with Bucky ending up possessed by a fucking demon. "It's about what you told us. The closer we get to the end of the month, the stronger this thing is going to get until it's controlling you. We have to figure out how to stop this."  
  
Bucky pushed shards of ceramic around with his left finger aimlessly, coffee leaving a trail behind it like slime off a slug. He shrugged. "You could put me on ice. It's what Hydra did, I think. I never came out in the fall, no matter what."  
  
"That's messed up that your first response is 'yeah freeze me alive'. You know that right?" Sam asked.  
  
"Yeah well your face is messed up-"  
  
"Bucky, come on," Steve said sternly.  
  
Bucky stiffened momentarily at the sound of Steve's 'I-mean-business' voice and then he scooped up the shards on the floor. Clint helped. "It only did that because we're talking about it. The more attention you pay it the worse it'll be."

 

"Well, I'm not really all that well-versed in this stuff. I'd have just issued a formal apology to said demon for putting it on the spot like that, had it not thrown a fit with my coffee and just used its words like an adult," Clint continued, as if talking down to a misbehaving child. Sam really, really needed new friends because he couldn't tell if Clint was trying to joke and lighten up the heavier atmosphere or not.   
  
It didn't matter. There was a sudden and horrible, nails-on-chalkboard sound coming from the stainless steel fridge and Sam whipped his head around to face it instantly. He saw Nat and Steve do about the same thing. Clint yawned and rubbed his hand over his open mouth, padding over to get a better view of what was going on. Right before their eyes with no discernible physical source, letters were scored into the metal surface. Sam held his breath. This was real. Of course all the other shit had happened but somehow, seeing a response to their conversation get carved into the fridge as they all watched made it plain there was some conscious entity behind it all. In erratic gouges and scratches, the demon had written on the fridge, "Die Clint Die".

 

Clint chuckled and dug out his phone. A normal response to having been singled out for angering a God damned demon. Sam was pretty sure he saw Clint open Snapchat before he took a picture.  
  
"Are you serious?" Natasha asked flatly before Sam got the chance.  
  
"What? Jealous you've never gotten a callout from a demonic entity before?" Clint said. He tapped a few things into his phone before setting about getting another cup of coffee.  
  
"It threatened you with death," Steve said.   
  
Clint shrugged. "No, man. That's German for 'The Clint, the'."  
  
"Jesus Christ," Sam muttered quickly, dragging a hand over his face. These people were going to put him in an early grave.   
  
"Hey!" Bucky said suddenly. "That's from The Simpsons, isn't it?"  
  
Clint laughed a little. "Right on. You've been watching it?"  
  
"I watch everything you suggest to me. I like the things you like," Bucky answered like an eight year old trying to appease his cool ten year old friend with the notion that he was _also_ cool.  
  
"That's what's wrong with you," Natasha mumbled under her breath. Clint gave her a hurt look and she rolled her eyes at him.   
  
Suddenly, everything in the kitchen flew open with a bang-every cabinet door, the oven, the dishwasher, even the fridge. At least this time everyone jumped at the shock of the noise and movement so Sam didn't have to feel like the only sane one in the group.   
  
Someone was jogging down the hall. Briefly Sam thought it could be the demon. But then Scott and Peter emerged from their respective rooms, slowing as they took in the scene of everything in the kitchen thrown open. "We heard a bunch of noise," Peter explained. His brows came together as he tried to sort out the reason for all the open cabinets. Scott's eyes settled on the fridge, face contorting into confusion as he read Clint's "callout".   
  
Bucky looked mildly guilty as Steve heaved a breath. "This has to be dealt with," Steve said finally.   
  
"Oh man, the mom voice," Clint whispered, shooting a sympathetic look to Bucky.   
  
"Mom voice?" Peter whispered back, shuffling between Clint and Sam.  
  
"Nobody's _ever_ successfully argued back against the mom voice," Sam explained quietly.   
  
"Some say Steve used the mom voice on Tony and that's what almost started that whole gang war we nearly had," Clint said. "But they both deny that to this day, so who can say?"  
  
"Why's he using the mom voice on Bucky? The spider thing?" Scott asked, keeping his voice to a low whisper while Steve, Nat, and Bucky all argued about the seriousness of what was going on.  
  
"More like the cause of the spider thing. He's possessed by a demon," Clint replied.  
  
"I've been saying that since day one but nobody wanted to listen to me," Sam said with a hint of haughtiness.   
  
"Wait, all that demon stuff is _real?_ " Peter asked, eyes shooting back over to the still open cabinets and the still visible death threat.   
  
"Real as you please," Clint answered nonchalantly. "But Steve'll figure it out. He'll project himself to the astral plane by sheer force of will and drag the thing back to hell in ghost form if he has to. It's how he operates."  
  
"I don't think that's how you deal with things like this," Peter put in, maybe a little timidly, like he knew he was out of his depth and suspected they might have more experience with demonic posession than him. They didn't.   
  
Clint stared back at Peter for a long, quiet minute like he was coming up with a response. Then his face screwed up and he asked, "Wait a minute, why aren't you in school? You're like, fifteen. This is no place for-"  
  
"I'm _eighteen,_ " Peter corrected defensively. Sam had to imagine the 'kid' stuff was getting on his nerves and Sam didn't blame him. Peter could probably kick a lot of their asses, if he got more experience in a combat setting.   
  
"Oh shit. Really?" Clint asked.   
  
"You're really smart for eighteen," Scott added. "Mature, you know?"  
  
Peter grinned. "Hey, thanks."  
  
"Hello!" Sam snapped. They all looked at him and Sam nodded back to the conversation they all should've been paying more attention to. The one that was going to decide what happened with the guy who'd brought an evil entity into their living space like it was no big deal. It was probably way more important than debating how old Peter Parker seemed.   
  
Sam had lost track of the conversation himself, but figured out where it was now easily enough as Steve said, "No, I've found somebody already so you can't put this off by pretending you're looking for help."  
  
Bucky's open mouth, presumably ready with a rebuttal at first, snapped shut.   
  
"How did you find someone who agreed to something like this?" Natasha asked. A fair question. What kind of person would be okay with dealing with a robot-armed supersoldier possessed by Satan?  
  
"I have sources," Steve answered.  
  
"Sources," Bucky repeated dubiously.  
  
"Yes. I may not be a spy with a big network of contacts or a billionaire who can buy anybody's attention, but I know people too, okay?" Steve replied, bristling just a little. It wasn't that Steve was bad with people or anything. But he also had no problems bulldozing someone and telling them they were wrong about things. It tended to burn some bridges, even if that wasn't Steve's intention in the end. He was just an honest person and a lot of people didn't like honest. But the flip side was that a lot of people liked Captain America, regardless of his blunt honesty. He rolled his shoulders back before continuing, "It's Maria Hill. She knows a guy, and is going to try contacting him."  
  
"Maria Hill?" Bucky griped, putting a hand to his head. "Did you tell her everything? Those SHIELD people want me in one of their glass cubes and you just gave her another reason for it."  
  
"I didn't tell her who had the problem," Steve said. "And not _all_ the ex-SHIELD people want that, you know."  
  
"Okay, but I shot her boss, who she really liked. She hates me," Bucky said.  
  
"Did you miss the part where I said it wasn't you?" Steve answered back, the tilt of his brows telling Sam he was inching towards outright agitation.   
  
"I'm sure she can figure it out," Bucky mumbled. "Then she'll lie and say, 'oh yeah Cap, I can send somebody over to help' and it'll be like dozens of SHIELD people and they'll have those stun batons and the things that break my arm and heavy duty magcuffs-"  
  
"Bucky, you said you'd work with me on this," Steve said sternly again, a sense of finality in his voice. "Trust me. I'm not going to let anybody come here if I thought they were just going to hurt you."  
  
That reminder seemed to resonate with Bucky and his eyes, which had held just the slightest edge of animal panic over the idea that he'd be imprisoned again, melted into guilt and he looked down at a spot on the floor. "Okay. I'm sorry. It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that sometimes people lie and trick each other. And maybe somebody would do that to you," Bucky explained as though Steve weren't aware of the concept of lies.  
  
Steve's eyes softened this time and Sam wanted to gag. "It's okay. I know this is a lot to deal with, but things will get better. We'll fix this whole...demon thing, I promise. No prisons, no ice, none of that."  
  
"This is sweet as hell," Clint whispered into the brief silence that followed. Peter guffawed.   
  
"Yeah yeah," Steve muttered, waving a dismissive hand at Clint.   
  
"Get you a guy who looks at you the way Steve Rogers looks at Bucky Barnes," Sam added, much to Clint's amusement. Even Nat cracked a grin which really just boosted Sam's self-esteem through the roof. Something he needed given the recent events around here.  
  
"Very funny, guys," Steve continued as Bucky's eyes flicked back and forth between Steve and Clint and Sam, obviously confused.   
  
"How is he looking at me? Is it good or bad?" Bucky demanded,  
  
"Surprisingly neutrally, actually," Scott said, which made Clint and Sam laugh again and just furthered Bucky's confusion.   
  
Natasha patted Bucky on the shoulder and said, "Come on. We'll watch a movie and leave the children to play."  
  
"But what does it _mean?_ " Sam could hear Bucky practically beg as Nat led him towards the other room.   
  
"Nothing."  
  
"I just don't get...I don't know, society. I guess."  
  
"It's complicated."  
  
"Fine."  
  
Steve sighed only after he heard Friday begin a conversation with Nat about movie recommendations. Then he glanced at the rest of them, who were on the edge of bursting out into giggles again like little kids under the eye of a weary teacher. Steve finally broke the silence with a non-serious, "You guys are dicks," and they couldn't keep back their laughter.   
  
It was around two twenty-three in the morning when Sam was woken up. He was disoriented at first, the noise hard to make sense of as he shook off sleep. It didn't help that the noise was a bit distorted and erratic. He realized it was Friday finally. She was...well, singing. It sounded like a nursery rhyme, what parts he could make sense of around the bursts of static and electronic interference and fuzz.   
  
"Friday?" Sam asked. She wasn't supposed to be able to speak into their rooms unless they'd spoken to her first, for privacy. So it was definitely odd that she was. That and there was something clearly wrong with the speakers or something.   
  
She didn't answer, just continuing to sing, "The old grey goose is dead..."  
  
Sam sighed and threw off his blanket. On opening the door, he could still hear her from the speaker down the hall. And the kitchen. The common area. Everywhere, really, her voice following him as he went.   
  
"Sam." He turned and saw Natasha and she didn't even look tired or like she'd just been woken up. She looked very, very alert. Which made him instantly feel the same way.   
  
"What's going on with Friday?" he asked.   
  
"I have a suspicion. I don't think you'll like it," she answered.   
  
Then movement in the hall behind him. He turned, more on edge with every moment that passed. It was just Steve, but he had that look on his face. That determination that said shit was going down and he wasn't going to let you stop until it was dealt with. "He's not in there, not in Wanda's room, not in the bathroom."  
  
"Who?" Sam asked. He hated being without information in a tense situation.  
  
"Bucky," Steve replied shortly. He glanced back and forth between Sam and Nat. "Friday has a...control room, or something like that right? A place where all her servers are stored?"  
  
Under ordinary circumsances, Sam would've teased Steve by congratulating him for using the word 'server' correctly in a sentence that had nothing to do with restaurants. Instead he nodded. "Yeah, it's underground, in the other building, with the labs and training facilities." They all argued over what the official names of these places should be, of course, and were yet to agree on something.   
  
More movement behind them. They all turned sharply, tense and ready. But it was just Peter wandering out, rubbing one eye and he asked, "Hey, Friday's being all weird," he said sleepily. "Should we call Mr. Stark?"  
  
"It's fine," Natasha said. "We're going to deal with it."  
  
Suddenly, the few low lights in the room flickered. The hum of electricity disappeared briefly before kicking back on. Friday still continued to sing, "...the old grey goose is dead..."  
  
"I think I know that song from somewhere," Peter muttered.   
  
"It's an old nursery rhyme. Think Burl Ives sang it," Steve answered absently, moving back down the hall as he spoke. Natasha disappeared briefly too, and Sam felt dread in the pit of his stomach because he knew they were going to arm themselves.  
  
"Burl _who_?" Peter asked, turning to watch Steve go.   
  
Steve came back out with his shield. Natasha's wrists were adorned with the Widow Bites. Sam said, "We need to swing by the armory first."  
  
Steve looked up sharply at that. "No guns. We aren't shooting him."  
  
"That's easy for you to say when you know you can take a beating. We can't," Sam said, gesturing to himself and Nat. They were just human, after all.   
  
Steve held out his shield instead, and with a bit of hesitation, Sam took it. It was lighter than he thought it would be. "If he throws a punch, try to catch it as close to the center as possible," Steve said. "Come on."  
  
"Hey, wait, can't I help?" Peter asked as they headed out the door.   
  
"Help by staying here!" Steve called back.   
  
It was dark outside. Floodlights were supposed to be activated by human-sized motion. But that was all managed by Friday, who was apparently a little compromised right now, so the lights never came on. Even with the shield, Sam felt all too exposed here in this dark and open space. It didn't really make him feel any better once they were back inside the other building, though. The lights flickered and the electricity hummed erratically. Friday kept on singing her creepy ass song, voice distorted and fuzzy, "They locked me up and took my soul, ashamed of what they'd made..."  
  
"It's this way," Natasha told them, nodding to the door at the end of the hall. It was the only one that was open, the others leading to Tony and Banner's labs. Some were for testing new iterations of Iron Man armor, others for new and more durable building materials, medications for enhanced metabolisms like Steve and Bucky's, weapons, armors, computers. If you could think of it, one of them was probably working on it.   
  
"I'd just like to officially express my distaste for this whole thing happening right now," Sam said as they descended the stairs. They had to go single file, and of course Steve's suicidal self took point. The tension was getting to Sam, winding in his stomach tighter and tighter. What if they went down there and it wasn't Bucky? What if it was something worse? Something they couldn't fight?   
  
"Yeah, I'm not too thrilled either, but what're you gonna do?" Steve replied with a way too casual shrug. Sam hated that they were friends sometimes.   
  
As they moved closer to the server room, they could hear noises over Friday's voice. Crashing. The squeal of crumpling metal. Snapping. Light flickered sporadically. Sure enough, once they were close enough to see, Bucky was there, destroying everything he could get his hands on.   
  
"Bucky, stop!" Steve said, apparently feeling no hesitation at walking in on a scene like this.   
  
But much to Sam's surprise, Bucky did exactly what Steve said. He froze the instant Steve spoke, a bundle of snapped wires and cables in hand. They were still live, connected to a power source. Sam hissed that fact out to Steve, who held up a hand and nodded. Bucky didn't look up at them, but Sam was getting a frightening kind of deja-vu. He was looking a lot like he had on the bridge, on the helicarrier. A lot like the Winter Soldier in kill mode. Mostly blank, but with an edge of resolve and determination.   
  
"What are you doing?" Steve asked him.   
  
Bucky didn't answer.   
  
"It is-is-is mine, C-C-Captain," Friday said suddenly, voice still marred with feedback and glitchy artifacting. "Pl-please. Be ea-ea-easy. _Shhhhh...._ "  
  
"I'd like to go back upstairs now," Sam muttered, balling his hands into fists, lifting the shield a little.  
  
"We will be go-gooo-good, now. My-my-my tur-r-rn. _Ya-ya-ya got-uvvvv ot-t-t-"  
  
_ Bucky shot forward, wrenching back his left arm and Sam shouted as he fought to shove Steve out of the way. The force of the blow would've had him on his ass if it weren't for Steve grabbing him by the shoulders and supporting him. Sparks danced over the vibranium as Bucky smashed the live wires against it but the weird properties of the metal kept it from conducting any electricity into Sam's arm. Otherwise, he might be dead.  
  
Natasha moved quick, punching at Bucky's exposed side and despite the clear connection of her taser and his ribcage, he grabbed her by the throat and threw her into one of the servers. Sam gritted his teeth and shoved the shield hard, trying to smack him in the face. But Bucky slammed back against it with his left elbow, a high pitched ringing sound echoing in the room.   
  
"No f-f-fun to-oo-oo play games. Pl-ay-ay-" Friday continued to jabber.   
  
Bucky swept Sam's feet out from under him in a movement too quick for him to follow. He hit the ground hard, clutching the shield tight to avoid losing it. Steve leapt forward swinging, narrowly missing Bucky's jaw. He jerked back and yanked on the wires in his hand, planting them in Steve's gut. Sam had no idea how much electricity the cables were putting out but Steve locked up all the same, shuddering, jaw tensing.   
  
Sam shot to his feet, imitating moves he'd seen Steve use hundreds of times by now and hoping for the best. That seemed to be Steve's way of approaching a fight anyway so how could it fail Sam now?  
  
The answer was very easily, it turned out. The shield made contact with the side of Bucky's head, and they stumbled-Sam forward, Bucky backward. Steve fell to his knees as the source of the electric current was ripped away. He was gasping for breaths but seemed aware of his surroundings. Not that Sam had a lot of time to pay attention to that.   
  
There was that unique _clang_ sound as Bucky slammed both hands onto the edges of the shield at the same time. Sam spread his feet apart, trying to keep himself grounded. He'd been expecting a push and got a pull, jerking him forward and then he was hit hard between the shoulder blades. His breath rushed out of his lungs and he fell. Trying to catch himself with the shield was an awkward task and he ended up slipping it off his arm and barely keeping his nose from making contact with the hard tile floor.   
  
He rolled over and groped for the shield. It was going to be a photo finish and Sam wasn't liking his odds here. Bucky crouched, gathering up the cables again and-  
  
The bundle of wires would've been shoved into Sam's face, maybe killing him, maybe just screwing up his heart rate for awhile. But some funky, white substance was suddenly wrapped around their exposed ends and yanked upwards until they slammed into the ceiling, ripped from Bucky's hand.   
  
"Resident Evil," Peter said like they were continuing a conversation. He caught Bucky's fist, then spun him around, webbing his wrists together behind his back like it was nothing. "The song, it was from Resident Evil 7. I was playing it with Scott today. It's scary as hell-"  
  
"Didn't I tell you to stay put?" Steve asked heatedly. Natasha was helping him to his feet.   
  
The whites of the eyes on Peter's mask widened and narrowed. "Uh, you said 'stay here'. And 'here' is subjective based on where the person who said it currently is. Or isn't. So 'here' now means-"  
  
"Smart ass," Steve muttered.   
  
"I'm okay with him showing up," Sam put in, rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up. Bucky wasn't fighting against the webbing on his arms. He was perfectly still, just staring at nothing. Sam kept out of his reach anyway.   
  
Peter cocked his head. "So...what's going on? Why'd he wreck the place and try to kill you?"  
  
"I told you," Natasha said. This seemed to be directed at Steve, maybe a thread of a conversation Sam nor Peter had been included in. "It gets _worse._ "   
  
Sam didn't need to be told that. "I think it went after Friday to eliminate our chances of keeping an eye on it, on getting information quickly and easily."  
  
Steve nodded. "Makes sense. Keep us blind and we won't know what it's up to. It's stacking the deck in its favor whatever way it can." He moved cautiously towards Bucky and Sam couldn't help but tense up again. Nothing further happened. Steve said Bucky's name and finally he blinked. He blinked like he was trying to shake off sleep. He looked suddenly exhausted, and then confused.   
  
"Why am-" he started, then tried to move his arm. He groaned. "You let him put that stuff on me?"  
  
"You didn't leave us with a whole lot of options," Steve responded. He helped Bucky to his feet. Bucky's head was tilted down still but Sam could see him trying to covertly take in his surroundings. The wrecked server room. The tension in their stances and eyes. He looked deeply ashamed and Sam almost felt bad for him.  
  
"Did I hurt anybody?" Bucky asked quietly.   
  
"You threw Natasha across the room," Steve answered honestly.  
  
Bucky couldn't keep from cringing. "Did it hurt?"  
  
"I'd give it a five out of ten," Natasha said.   
  
Bucky sighed through his nose. "I'm really sorry, Natalia."  
  
"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to be aware of what this thing can and will do the longer you go without addressing it," Natasha responded. "We can help you. But the help only works if you're willing. And I can't see what you have to lose."  
  
Bucky didn't have an answer, and Sam thought maybe this most recent mess had taken the fight out of him. He was beginning to see-like the rest of them were-that this wasn't something he could will away, or ignore and hope for the best on. It had to be dealt with, or someone was going to end up hurt. Or worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday's song is a nursery rhyme which has been sung by many different people. Burl Ives did do a version of it, as Steve says. And as Peter says, there is a song in Resident Evil 7 which was inspired by "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" but has different lyrics.
> 
> The "Die Clint die" thing is indeed a Simpsons reference. It refers to a note Sideshow Bob wrote that says "Die Bart, Die". When pressed about it Sideshow Bob, who is always trying to kill Bart, lies that it's German for "The Bart, The". It's such a stupid joke but I like it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for handful of brief, one line threats of gory/lewd acts.

"So, question." Tony held his steepled fingers to his lips briefly, for the suspense. "Why did Friday wake me up at two in the morning to inform me that Sergeant Putting the Ass in Asset was living up to his name and smashing her brains to pieces?"  
  
Tony Stark was a man of science. So Sam had no idea how he was going to take this whole demonic posession business. Not to mention he wasn't exactly Bucky's biggest fan. He'd arrived at the compound at about four-thirty that morning. Natasha and Peter had managed to get back to bed. Steve hadn't bothered with the pretense that he was trying to sleep. Bucky had, though Sam was reasonably certain that he was just in his room out of sheer shame over what had happened. Sam had actually tried to sleep and hadn't been able to. And why not? The fight in the basement had brought him back to that highway in DC. It was the horror of knowing you were facing a thing you couldn't possibly beat on your own. He was lucky Steve and Nat were there both times. Sam was no pushover-he could hold his own just fine in a fight. But he had to admit, you were hard-pressed to find a regular person who could come out on top in a one-to-one fight with a supersoldier.  
  
Tony had spent some time surveying the damage directly, speaking with Friday through his phone from the other set of servers at the Tower in Manhattan. If something happened to those, there were a third set in Malibu. Sam would call him paranoid, but maybe it wasn't paranoia if you really were targeted as often as Tony was.   
  
Now it was around six or so. Sam, Tony, and Steve were all in the living room, Sam and Tony both with a coffee in hand.   
  
"What did Friday have to say about what happened?" Steve asked instead.  
  
"Can I get an answer first?"   
  
"What Friday says might have to do with the answer you want," Steve said.   
  
Tony stared at Steve then sighed, setting his phone on the coffee table. "Go ahead, sweetheart."  
  
Friday spoke, her voice returned to the usual clear and lilting tones. Sam couldn't help but listen for aberrations anyway. "The last bit of information sent to my Manhattan servers comes from 2:17 AM EST. The sergeant came to the server room at 2:00 AM EST. I attempted to ask him if he needed assistance, as he had no reason to be in the room. I was functioning normally. He made no response to my repeated attempts to speak to him. This has not been the sergeant's typical pattern of behavior since he first arrived with Captain Rogers in January. I became concerned and attempted to wake Captain Rogers, and that is when the sergeant began to destroy my servers."  
  
Steve nodded. "I remember being woken up by Friday but she was cut off. I just heard her mention Bucky but that was it."  
  
Friday continued, "Just before I lost contact with the compound servers, there was an...anomaly, of sorts. The electricity running through the server's circuits and wires was unstable."  
  
"Unstable," Tony repeated. "What're we talking, like a power surge?"  
  
"Maybe," Friday said, but the uncertainty was plain in her voice. "Given that the sergeant then destroyed the parts of me necessary for data analysis at that time, I'm unable to give a very detailed response. As you know, boss, there are surge protectors throughout my server room to deal with any potential overloads in electricity."  
  
"Yeah, but if someone's down there ripping everything to shreds, they probably aren't going to function as intended," Tony answered easily.  
  
"Then where did the excess electricity come from?" Sam asked.   
  
Tony shrugged. "That amount of destruction going on, could've been any number of things. Plus there's lightning, backup generator kicking on, hell, even the electric company messing with the flow to the grid."  
  
Steve sighed through his nose and rubbed his eyes. "You know what did it, Sam."  
  
Sam pressed his lips together and glanced away towards his laced fingers. At the time it seemed very real. What other explanation could there have been for Bucky's behavior, and Friday's, for that matter? But now that he sat here with Tony Stark ready to lay down the skeptic's law, he felt ridiculous. "Maybe," was all Sam could muster.   
  
"What did it was your worse half," Tony answered, his tone making it obvious he didn't understand why they seemed to be stuck on the issue. "I'm not concerned with _who_ did it because it's obvious. I'm concerned with _why._ "  
  
"It's not as simple as it looks," Steve said. He didn't even look embarrassed about it. It was like Steve had already made up his mind on the matter. Like he did with everything else in his life when he felt sure of himself, he just dove right in. "He's possessed by a demonic entity, or something like that. And it drove him to do what he did."  
  
To Tony's credit, he didn't laugh in Steve's face. Not even a little. He just stared with a very tired expression in his eyes despite all the coffee he'd had by this point. Steve didn't back down, maintaining a serious expression and keeping his shoulders square, his posture exuding confidence. "Okay," Tony said finally. "At Christmas are you going to tell me that Barnes needs twelve reindeer and a sled? Because I don't know if that's in the budget-"  
  
"Tony, this is serious. We have seen enough bizarre stuff happen around here lately-"  
  
"Nothing about this is serious except the damage your boyfriend did to this facility, and the potential for more and _worse_ ," Tony argued back. "Either tell me what really happened here, or figure out a more believable lie."  
  
"He's not lying, man," Sam said, now feeling a little more at home with Steve's explanation because he was right. Weird shit _had_ been going on, and they had evidence of it in the death threat carved in the fridge. "There was that cup flying off the counter, And then all that blood coming out of the sink. And go look at the fridge."  
  
"Yeah, I saw that. Really wish whoever did it would've just done that in a cross stitch instead so I could hang it in the lobby," Tony said dismissively.  
  
"It's carved into the fridge," Steve said like he couldn't figure out why Tony wasn't taking this more seriously.  
  
Tony shrugged. "And Barnes has an entire arm made of metal. He could do it easily."  
  
"We were there when it happened. It just appearead on the fridge," Steve said, voice rising a little bit.   
  
"Hm, okay then, I wonder if there's anyone among us who could do something like that with their mind," Tony said, tapping his finger to his lips has he held his chin in his hand in mock contemplation.  
  
Truth be told, it'd never even occurred to Sam. But it could be a hell of a lot more sensible than a demon.  
  
Steve didn't seem convinced. He shook his head. "Wanda's been sick for a couple of days now. I don't think she's wasting her time and energy on something like this."  
  
"So she's sick. And she's bored. And it's her first Halloween in America and she found the most credulous people around to pull a prank on. I'd say she's assimilating well," Tony said with a shrug. "Your flying cup is trivial to somebody who can move things with their mind. Even your fountain of blood. Planting visions in people's heads is kind of her thing." Sam didn't miss the hint of bitterness that had managed to creep into Tony's voice. He never mistreated Wanda, and was open to her making up for old mistakes. But Sam understood it was hard to forget the past, especially when it drove you to nearly destroy the world.   
  
Steve wasn't budging, even if Sam was beginning to think Tony was building a very good case here. Maybe Wanda meant to just tease them a little, and now the prank had gone a little too far when she unwittingly did something to Bucky that lead him to destroy Friday's servers. "Charlotte," Steve said, standing up abruptly. He disappeared down the hall towards Bucky's room without turning back.  
  
Tony raised an eyebrow as he watched Steve go. Then he looked at Sam and asked, "Who's Charlotte?"  
  
It was Sam's turn to give a tired look, and he sank lower in his seat as he heard two sets of supersoldier footsteps coming back down the hall. "You'll see," was all he said because he didn't really want to revisit that part of his life.   
  
"Bucky, tell Tony where Charlotte came from," Steve said, gesturing with an open palm towards an increasingly confused Tony. He was looking for something, probably a person, maybe a dog or a cat.   
  
Then Bucky held up his tupperware container and Tony jerked back and said, "No. No no. And no." He actually stood up and started pacing behind the couch, like he wanted a physical barrier between him and Bucky in case he decided to weaponize Charlotte. "Why? I said no pets. We all agreed. This is-Ha, that's not a _pet-"  
  
_ "She didn't _ask_ to be brought to New York, where she can't survive the harsh winter and the unfamiliar predators," Bucky argued back.   
  
"I don't _care,_ it's a spider! One as big as my fist! That's not-" Here Tony's words broke down into a kind of groaning noise at the back of his throat. "Get that thing out of here!"  
  
"That's not fair, Steve said I could keep her!"  
  
Tony looked horrified and betrayed all at once. "You're letting a _tarantula_ into our livingspace-"  
  
"I said _maybe_ you could keep her," Steve clarified and now it was Bucky's turn to look betrayed. Before further arguing could go on about whether Charlotte was staying or not, Steve shook his head and said, "All of this is beside the point-"  
  
"A tarantula is never beside the point, it _is_ the point," Tony argued. Sam had to agree on that one.  
  
"Tell him where it came from, Bucky," Steve said, leaving no room for further debate about the spider.  
  
Now the room got quiet and Bucky looked down at his feet and mumbled something. Charlotte crawled from one corner of the container to the other and Sam hated that he witnessed it because it was creepy as hell to watch a spider that large move around.   
  
"I didn't catch that," Tony said.   
  
"I _threw_ her up, okay?" Bucky said, visibly agitated. "Happy? I was puking and a spider came out and she doesn't deserve to be thrown out in the cold because of all that, does she?"  
  
Tony stared, brown eyes wide and horrified before suddenly he began to laugh hysterically. He covered his face with his hands and laughed like someone had just told the best joke he'd ever heard. Much as Tony joked, Sam hadn't ever actually heard him laugh like this. "You've done it," Tony said around his laughter. "I've finally gone insane. This is what it's like. Spiders and metal-armed assassins caring deeply for them, Jesus. What is going _on_ in this house?"  
  
"I told you, Tony," Steve said. "You don't have to believe it. Doesn't matter. We're going to fix it anyway, whatever it takes."  
  
"Steve, it really isn't that big of a deal," Bucky said in a quiet voice. He shrugged. "I'll just go hang out in the woods somewhere for a couple of months until it goes back to normal levels and it'll be fine. Then nobody has to worry about it."  
  
Tony kept laughing. "Hey, Barnes? I think the _normal_ level of demonic possessions is usually somewhere around...none? Yeah, none demons at all."

"First, yes, no demons," Steve said, pointing at Tony then holding up another finger as he ticked off the points. "Two, what do you think a demon wants to do with you? A demon brought here by Hydra? I'm going to hazard a guess: nothing good!" Here Bucky smacked his lips and rolled his eyes like he was dealing with a hysterical person and not the only other single sensible one in this whole fucked up group. "Third, you should know by now that I'm not going to sit by and let this happen to you. There's a way to fight it, we just have to figure out how, so I've been doing my research."

"Of course you have. If it exists, you want to punch it," Bucky said, throwing up one hand and walking away from him before making a tight circle to face Steve again.

Steve nodded. "If it exists and threatens my friends, then yes, I want to punch it. Why is that so radical a notion?"

"Because you can't punch this thing! It isn't really here right now!"

Steve shook his head. "That's where you're wrong. It's here, we just can't see it, right? So with Maria Hill's help, I've found someone who can change that. Who can see it."

"What're you talking about?"

"A man who says he's able to help. That's all that matters."

There was a brief silence before Tony asked, "Does this man have a 1-800 number that's advertised during daytime TV talk shows?"

"No. He's a doctor, actually. A brain surgeon." Everyone stared at Steve, waiting for more because it was plain there was more. "...And a master of magic and mystic forces."

"There it is," Tony said, pointing his fingers at Steve like a gun. "This situation has cracked you, Cap. It's probably for the best if you tried to put some distance-"

Steve wasn't having it. "What else are we supposed to do, Tony? Sit by and let it happen?"

"We can study whatever alleged phenomenon you three stooges claim is going on and see what it _actually_ is."

"Study," Steve muttered with an exasperated tone.

Tony went on the defensive. "Science is trial and error. It takes time but-"

"Time we don't have!"

Sam let his eyes wander while the two argued, mostly because their arguments tended to devolve into the same thing over and over when it came to Bucky's existence. He thought maybe the demonic possession angle may add some new spice to it, but he wasn't feeling like following it right now. Especially since he knew he was going to have to be the one to wrangle Steve and tell him about all the modern day crack pots and crap artists who scammed desperate people like him out of money. His eyes settled on Bucky, who no longer wore an exasperated expression. He looked blank, a bit like the Soldier, only the rest of him was not stiffly at attention or on guard. No, he held himself limp and loose, like any second someone would cut his strings and he'd collapse to the floor. "Hey, guys," Sam said to the arguing pair. He caught Tony make some remark about Miss Cleo and Steve's angry _you know_ _I don't know who that is!_ All the while, Bucky's eyes stayed glassy and weird, unfocused on the world around them. "Guys..." Sam said a little harder, but still the pair fought. The room seemed like it was getting darker, somehow. Like a heavy cloud had passed over the still-rising sun. And there was a weight to the air, something Sam didn't have words for. But it definitely set him on edge enough to finally shout, "Steve, Tony, shut the fuck up and pay attention!"

The room went quiet as the two did just as Sam demanded. Maybe in another situation he would've felt accomplished because shutting either of them up is a chore, so shutting them both up at the same time was monumental. But all his focus was on Bucky, whose mouth was moving wordlessly, at first. Like someone testing something out for the first time. Which meant something really, really bad, Sam thought. Bucky's eyes slid closed and there were stuttered syllables, meaningless at first. And then: "This one. Is not. Yours."

Steve surged forward before anyone could grab hold of him. Not that Sam or Tony believed they could restrain him if they tried. "Bucky!" Steve said, hands on Bucky's shoulders, shaking lightly. "Bucky, don't let it do this!"

"This one. Was given. Already. To me." Sam winced as he began to pick up another voice working in time with Bucky's, something inhuman and horrific and that made his stomach drop as he heard it. Blood dripped from Bucky's nose, pooled in his tear ducts.

"Leave him alone, you son of a bitch," Steve growled, hands bunching up the fabric of Bucky's shirt in a white-knuckled grip.

The ground shook and Steve seemed to be the only one unphased by that. "What was offered. Can not. Be. Rescinded." For the first time since the demon started talking, Bucky opened his eyes. They were completely black, and the blood pooling at the corners finally rolled over his cheeks. The room only seemed to get darker, nearly impenetrable. Until Sam caught movement, a flash of something breezing by. Then another. Another. And-

Sam screamed when something grabbed his arm, cold fingers digging into his skin. A shout from Tony came soon after. He couldn't see anything but the withering old hand on his arm.  
  
"An-tho-ny, An-tho-ny," Friday sang suddenly from speakers that weren't supposed to be functional. "Mommy and Daddy are waiting for you Anthony. Petulant boy. Bitter boy. Little killer, little killer-"  
  
"What the hell is going on?" Tony snapped but the fervor in his voice wasn't enough to hide how it trembled when he spoke.   
  
Sam tried to keep an eye on everything at once-the brief flashes of humanoid figures moving in the dark, Steve and Tony's tense forms, Bucky's unnervingly still one as he watched them with blackened eyes. Then a voice he knew painfully well whispered from just behind his ear, " _You let me fall, you let me fall, you let me-"  
  
_ He whirled on it and there was no one there. That didn't stop his heart from hammering a little harder, a guilt he thought he'd made his peace with making his throat tight.   
  
" _You just moved on, new family, new life-"_  
  
Sam couldn't help the strangled noise that came out of him as he swiped at the shape he could just barely see. It'd been behind him again, hissing angrily in Riley's voice and he couldn't let himself be fooled into believing it was really his best friend back from the dead. He couldn't. This was-it was an illusion, just like Tony said. The real question was who-or what-was behind it. He couldn't let it fool him, couldn't-  
  
 _"You left me behind to die!"_   
  
He tried to keep back a scream of his own when Riley-rotted, broken, shattered bones erupting from his skin-grabbed hold of him and shouted accusations in his face. Distantly he thought he heard Tony and Sam. Maybe they were struggling with their own issues, maybe they were trying to reach Sam, but either way, he couldn't tear his eyes from the reanimated corpse of his friend condemning him.  
  
Sam caught a new movement in the corner of his eye but couldn't tear his gaze away from Riley. That was resolved soon enough-suddenly, Riley was gone and Sam felt like he could breathe again, slightly. He looked first to Bucky, who still wasn't moving. Then he saw someone unfamiliar, a guy dressed kind of like a cross between an imitation Buddhist monk and an extra from an East Asian martial arts film set at the turn of the century. The red cape kind of threw off the whole look but Sam was past trying to figure things out now.   
  
"All right," the man said in a voice that almost came off as annoyed. He waved casually towards Bucky, who stared back, stone-faced, black-eyed. "I'm sure you know this dance by now. So let's just do this the easy way."  
  
"Who are-" Tony started to ask despite the still-rattled look in his eyes. Steve looked ready to lunge if the guy intended to harm Bucky but otherwise stay put. Sam figured the guy showing up at the same time the corpses disappeared wasn't just a coincidence and wanted him to do whatever he had to do to keep things that way, so he wasn't about to interrupt.  
  
"This is not. Your place. Sorceror," the demon managed to utter through Bucky. Bucky's voice still sounded stilted, like he'd never spoken a word before and was now being demanded to recite Shakespeare from memory.  
  
"Okay so the hard way," the new guy said with a sigh. He held up his hands, fingers bending or straightening, and it kind of reminded Sam of Wanda. "Satannish, Watoomb, Raggadorr, Ikonn, the Seraphim and Cyttorak-"  
  
Bucky suddenly screamed like an outraged animal. Sam and Tony both jerked back, and Steve started forward, but something stopped him. The air in front of him sparked gold and he couldn't get any closer. "What the hell are you doing to him?" Steve demanded but went unanswered.   
  
"-Those who threatened this one's cherished liberty, hark to this irrevocable decree: such enslavement will not be permitted-"  
  
"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" Bucky screamed, having since sank to his knees. His voice was suddenly a lot more his own but it wasn't right. Sam had never seen Bucky act like this. He'd started his days in their company as quiet, reserved, calm, and maybe fearful, but nevery angry. That had changed over time, of course, but one constant had been Bucky's lack of viciousness.  
  
"-Your claims on his person we now reject, all demands of servitude we must deny-"  
  
"I'll fucking kill you! I'm going to rip you apart at the seams! I'm going to eat your fucking hearts and fuck your intestines! I'm going to drink every ounce of your fucking blood and burn you alive!" Bucky continued to scream, slamming his fists into the ground, tearing at the floor until his fingernails snapped off, pulling at his own hair. Sam couldn't help the way his eyes went round as saucers. He'd heard some trash talk in his time, but this was beyond the pale. He looked to Steve and Tony, the latter with an expression similar enough to his own. Steve looked distraught, fists curled tight at his sides.   
  
"-Better the path this one walks is his alone. Hear now these words: let his fate be his own!"  
  
Bucky's screams and curses cut off abruptly and he fell in a heap on the floor. The air in the room no longer felt close or heavy. Sam realized suddenly he could hear birds singing outside. Maybe they'd been there the whole time and he just hadn't noticed. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and he crossed his shaking arms over his chest. Tony stared like his brain was still in the process of rebooting. Sam was sure once he'd dealt with what happened, he'd be his regular chattery self again, but for these few minutes he was silent. Steve had already jolted forward, sliding to his knees beside Bucky and looking for a pulse and a breath.   
  
The new guy said, "He's fine. Ish."  
  
"Fine-ish," Steve repeated dully, glancing back at him.   
  
"Well, he's still posessed by a demon. An awful one, from what I could tell just now. So." The guy shrugged a little then. "Fine in the sense that he isn't in any _immediate_ danger. Ish in the sense that...well, maybe I'll spare you the details. I wouldn't want you to be unable to sleep tonight."  
  
"Who are you?" Tony demanded finally, brain back online.  
  
"Didn't you call my 1-800 number?" the man answered flatly.  
  
"You're Doctor Strange, aren't you?" Steve said. He was wiping blood from Bucky's cheeks with his thumbs, too worried to spend the five seconds away from his side to grab a towel.   
  
"Yes," Strange said.  
  
"Wait, wait, Doctor Strange," Tony repeated. "As in Stephen Strange, the neurosurgeon?"  
  
"Last time I checked," Strange responded dryly.   
  
"And you're doing, uh, _this_ for a living now?" Tony gestured to Bucky, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever _this_ is, anyway."  
  
Strange rolled his eyes, apparently uninterested in whatever sarcastic remarks Tony had in store. The fridge suddenly fell closed in the kitchen behind them and they all turned sharply, still on edge after this latest display of the demon's abilities. Clint was there, eyes still half-closed with sleep and he shuffled to the coffee maker. "We're out of creamer. Just thought you guys should know," he said in a voice still scratchy from sleep. He poured a cup of coffee silently, dumping the last of the creamer into his mug, not throwing another single glance their way. Then he shuffled back down towards the hall where his room was, sipping at his drink as he went.   
  
The rest of them exchanged glances before Strange said, "We have work to do. A lot of it." His eyes settled on Bucky and Steve. Sam thought he was reading the same thing in Steve's eyes that he was feeling in himself. After all the crazy and horrible shit that had happened, they finally had someone here who might know how to deal with it. They weren't on their own anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incantation that Dr. Strange uses is from the comics. I modified some pronouns slightly to make it applicable to the situation.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't had much time to write lately! I've been preparing for an international move and the holidays...! Enjoy this out of season offering :))
> 
> Warnings for some sex talk. Nothing explicit, but naive!Bucky is out in full force in this chapter. And while I don't want to spoil anything for anyone, I feel obligated to let people who may not want to read such content know, this story will be taking a Stuckyish sort of turn in future chapters.

"One of the staples of a demon's MO is to create as much tension and anger and chaos as it can," Strange explained matter of factly. He'd plowed right into the thick of it without much preamble, letting them settle onto the couches. Tony had mentioned he was a neurosurgeon, and the way he spoke now reflected that. It was like a doctor-albeit one that seemed pretty detached from his patient's plight and was only concerned with the facts-giving a prognosis and laying out a treatment plan. "This one, as I mentioned, is pretty powerful, so it's going to have a lot of tools at its disposal to do so, unlike your lesser demons that can maybe open a door you were sure you left closed, or manifest bursts of static through the speakers of a TV that isn't even on."   
  
Steve was the only one who looked remotely focused on what Strange was saying. Tony was behind them in the kitchen, making faces and rolling his eyes as Strange spoke. Maybe he was still convinced there was some scientific explanation to be had. Sam couldn't begin to see what that might be but he also didn't have multiple PhDs from MIT and NYU so he left it alone for now. Bucky, who'd blinked himself awake shortly after Strange had knocked him-or the demon-out, was tapping his foot to a beat only he could hear and mouthing the words to a song. Strange seemed to notice this at about the same time Sam did and he asked, "I'm sorry. Was I interrupting the concert going on in your head or did you want to hear your options before I try to exorcise a demon from you?"  
  
Bucky looked caught in the act, and he sank lower on the couch. "I'm listening."  
  
"Right," Strange answered sarcastically, shaking his head before moving on. Sam was sensing he had the appropriate levels of assholishness to make it in their little group, which was impressive enough in itself without his demon-subduing powers. "Anyway, this one, it's strong. I think you guys just got a glimpse of that a moment ago. It's capable of manifesting illusions that you aren't going to be able to see through on your own. Even if you know with absolute certainty that what you're seeing isn't real, you aren't going to be able to convince your mind it's not. So it may be in everyone's best interest to check in with each other regularly, make sure everyone's reality is on the same page. It's going to target the people and things most capable of restraining and interfering with it first. That's why it went after your surveillance system-"  
  
" _Surveillance_ system?" Tony echoed in disbelief. "Friday isn't some ADT knock-off radioing the police every time a raccoon walks by outside. She's the most advanced artificial intelligence on the planet."  
  
"Fine. Your Avengers brand Alexa unit," Strange hit back. Sam liked the man. He liked him a lot. "The point is, the demon will do its best to cause disarray and tension among you."  
  
"That's not going to be difficult," Sam muttered.   
  
"I wonder if-" Steve started. Then he seemed to realize something and he shut himself up quickly with a head shake.  
  
Strange was sharp, though, and he didn't miss it. "What? Whatever it is could be valuable information. Even if you think it's insignificant, I know what to look for."  
  
Steve looked up at Strange. Sam didn't miss how his eyes flicked to Bucky, who had taken to pushing in the two top corners of the throw pillow beside him and comparing which one puffed back up first. "It's really probably nothing."  
  
"I'll be the judge of that, so spill it," Strange demanded.   
  
Steve sighed. "It was just-I had a very disturbing dream. Pretty outside the range of my usual brand of disturbing dream. But it was probably-"  
  
"What happened in it? It's absolutely the sort of thing a demon would do. If it views you as a threat, it'll do whatever it can to drain your energy and willpower. Disrupting your sleep is simple enough."  
  
Steve looked around at them again, a sign that he needed a little concentration and resolve to push himself through this. Sam wished he had some popcorn. "Well. In the dream, Bucky was there and we were-" He cleared his throat, eyes dropping briefly as he said, "Engaged. In some activities."  
  
There was a silence, Strange waiting for Steve to continue, Tony and Sam trying to keep straight faces. Bucky looked to be deeply concentrating on something. Then he asked, visibly confused, "What, like target practice or something?" It was painful sometimes, how naive he was, but Sam burst out laughing all the same.  
  
"Fucking, Barnes," Tony supplied instead.   
  
"Yeah, fucking," Steve admitted, nodding his head and glancing down at his hands. "But it was...not the kind of thing I'd-" He cleared his throat again and forced his face into a more serious expression, like he wasn't embarrassed about describing a morbid sex dream to his friends and a complete stranger. "I started choking him. Killing him. And I could feel things-I don't know, moving in his throat. These...snakes or octopus tentacles, I don't know, they started coming out of his mouth and his nose and his eyes but I didn't...um, stop. It was easily the most disturbing dream I've ever had."  
  
"You have an artist's imagination Cap," Tony said.  
  
"Wait a minute," Bucky said suspiciously, eyes narrowing. "This doesn't make sense to me."  
  
"Well, yeah, it's pretty damn gross," Sam said.  
  
"No, I mean-" He sat up a little straighter and leaned in as he spoke. When he did, his voice took on the tone of a detective who'd just found the vital clues to solving his case. "How was he fucking me if I don't have a _vagina?_ "  
  
Steve's face burned red but he wasn't so embarrassed that he was trying to hide it yet. Strange closed his eyes with a sigh and Tony and Sam both started laughing because how could they not at this point? Bucky looked bewildered and Tony finally managed around his laughter, "He was sticking it up your ass, you idiot."  
  
Bucky looked down at his hands now, which were clasped together, brows drawn together in concentration as he puzzled this out. Then he looked back up, unconvinced. "How? You can't fit a penis in there, can you?"  
  
Tony laughed even harder. Sam had to ask, "So the snakes or octopus tentacles crawling out of your throat, you're okay with. But it's the anal sex that trips you up?"  
  
Bucky got defensive, crossing his arms. "Well yeah, the biology of a small snake going down your throat is pretty easy to get. But your average sized penis is-how's it going to fit up there? And why? Wouldn't it hurt? I thought sex is supposed to feel good."  
  
By this point, Steve had let his head hang into his hands, covering his face until the conversation passed. Tony said, "You know what a prostate is, right?" Bucky nodded. He and Nat were both freakishly knowledgable about human anatomy. It unsettled everyone because they all knew why those two had that knowledge-to be as efficient as possible in using it to end lives. But in this case, at least, it spared them another tangent in an already awkward conversation. "Stimulating that feels good." Sam raised an eyebrow at him and Tony shrugged non-chalantly. "Hey, a finger up there every now and then just kind of spices things up. But I don't think I'd ever be okay with an entire, ahem, super-soldier sized penis."  
  
"To each their own, man," Sam muttered back, having learned a little more about Tony Stark's sex life than he'd wanted to. Which kind of happened frequently as Tony was very liberal with personal information.  
  
"If we're done with the sex-ed class for seniors, I'd like to return to that minor issue of the demonic possession," Strange said like they were all idiots.   
  
"I've don't know the details about things sometimes," Bucky mumbled feebly. Tony had asked him once if he'd gone the whole seventy years of brainwashing without any 'fun' and Bucky had answered, 'I think when pong first came out, one of my handlers couldn't find anyone else to play with so he made me play and I liked that.' Given his obliviousness when people made lewd jokes or implications, they were all pretty sure Bucky hadn't had sex with anyone in seventy years, or if he had, it'd been purged from his brain. In the race of who had the most fucked up life among them, Bucky was so far in first place that Sam didn't even count him as part of it.   
  
"It's nothing you need to really worry about right now anyway," Steve said. "Let's not waste any more of Dr. Strange's time."  
  
"Thanks," Strange said. He gestured back at Steve, like he was physically pulling them all to the original track of conversation. "You mentioned snakes or tentacles. Which was it?"  
  
Steve's lips pressed together in a line as he concentrated. "I think...tentacles." He took another second, as if just to be sure. "Yeah. Kind of like an octopus or a squid."  
  
"Okay. That helps. It could be one of two things. Your subconscious manifesting your repressed feelings for James combined with your guilt over what Hydra did to him-" Here Steve looked visibly uncomfortable and again Bucky looked confused but Strange pressed on before he could be interrupted. "Or, our demon revealed a little bit about itself."  
  
"Uh, what, that it's into some freaky bestial S&M?" Tony asked.  
  
"What is S and-" Bucky started to ask before everyone offered back their own brand of "don't worry about it" in varying tones of annoyance.  
  
"It could be that the demon has shown us something of its natural state. What it would look like if you could see it," Strange explained.   
  
"So it could look like an octopus?" Steve asked, eager to get to a conversation that didn't involve explaining sex acts he'd engaged in during his dreams.  
  
"It could have features reminiscent of one, yes," Strange confirmed. "Tentacles for arms or legs. Something like that. But this narrows things down when it comes to the most difficult part of fighting a demon and that's identifying it."  
  
"What, you can't just draw funny pictures on the floor and say the magic words?" Tony asked.   
  
"How many demons have you rid anyone of with your flashy Tin Man get-up?" Strange shot back, undeterred. "You asked for me to come here, so I did. But if I'm going to be mocked through the entire   
process, I'm not exactly feeling inclined to continue helping any of you."  
  
That, Sam couldn't handle. Because what if the demon suddenly decided _he_ was a threat? What if the demon suddenly made _him_ have sex dreams about Bucky Barnes? "Tony, shut the hell up and let the man work," he said before anyone could say anything else.   
  
Tony shrugged and threw up his hands. "Just think we're all being a little too credulous here."  
  
"Were you not here five minutes ago when all that freaky shit just happened?" Sam pressed. He knew Tony could be skeptical, but this seemed outright stubborn. Sam had kind of been occupied with his own visions of horror, but he vaguely recalled Friday mocking Tony about his dead parents. Didn't that stick with the guy?  
  
"I was and I still maintain the theory that Wanda has some part to play in all of this, whether she means to or not. You work with the simplest, most basic explanation first, debunk that, _then_ move onto demons," Tony explained.   
  
"Who is Wanda?" Strange asked. The look on his face told Sam he had some kind of idea, but that he wanted to hear it from them first.   
  
"Scarlet Witch," Steve supplied. It was apparently a code name Hydra had given her and she insisted on keeping it as a reminder of what she'd done, where she'd come from.   
  
"And I told you, Tony," Sam said. "She's been laid up in bed for days now. I don't think she's wasting her energy on this when she's too sick to even get up and make herself dinner."  
  
"Okay but-"  
  
Strange held up a hand in a sharp motion, cutting Tony off. "Sick? Sick how?"   
  
Sam shrugged, having been the first to notice. "Sleeping all day. Feeling fatigued."  
  
"But a cough? Fever? Itchy throat? Anything like that?"  
  
Sam pressed his lips together. He hadn't really heard her cough and when he asked, she said she had the chills but other than the complete lack of energy, she hadn't mentioned anything else. "She said she felt cold all the time. But that's it."  
  
"Where is she now?" Strange stood up as he spoke and he looked ready for...well, not a fight, but something. That had Sam-and the others, apparently-on edge.   
  
"Why?" Steve asked, standing up slowly.   
  
"I told you. The demon targets anyone who presents a threat. And a person with powers like hers would be its first target."  
  
Steve's suspicious demeanor instantly changed as he processed Strange's words. "This way," he said, all authority and determination now. He lead Strange back down the hall, and of course Sam had to follow to see what happened next. Tony sighed and rolled his eyes like he thought this was still a great parlor trick and they were all the gullible Victorians entertaining it. Bucky stayed behind, but he watched them go with guilt in his eyes.   
  
Wanda's door was the first on the right. Sam's was at the end of the hall, Peter's across from Wanda's. Strange grimaced as they approached, stopping at Wanda's door without having to be told which was hers. "Oh, it's been busy alright," he muttered under his breath. He held up a hand, and the air lit up around it in a perfect, golden circle filled with intricate patterns. Tony watched with a critical eye, still desperate to find the explanation to this that didn't have to fall back to "magic". But Sam thought he was going to have to give up on that soon.   
  
"What is it?" Steve asked.   
  
Strange moved his hand and the circle moved with it, like it was attached. Around the door were marks. Some looked like ragged claws. Others looked like shapes that wouldn't be out of place on something Thor owned. Runes, Sam thought they were called. There were all kinds of marks in varying languages, none of which Sam could really name but vaguely recognized.   
  
"Are those hieroglyphics?" Tony asked, like he thought it was ridiculous but had to ask all the same.  
  
Strange nodded. "There's Sanskrit. Phoenecian. Stygian cuneiform. Demons have a lot of languages to draw from. Words are their weapons, after all. But unfortunately for it, they're one of mine, too."  
  
"You don't want to do that."   
  
They all turned suddenly. Bucky stood at the end of the hall. It wasn't like before, where he hung like he was barely being held up of his own will. His eyes weren't blackened, but alert and panicky, almost like a rabbit caught in a trap.   
  
"If he tries to interfere, hold him back," Strange said.   
  
"Don't do it you worthless ape," Bucky said again. Sam tried not to step back and hide behind Steve, no matter how tempting it was. He knew he could handle a regular person. Hell, when he had his wings and a gun, he could handle a lot of them. But he remembered just how helpless he'd felt on that bridge in DC when the Winter Soldier came crashing down on them and that was a hard feeling to shake.   
  
Strange didn't say anything. Not anything Sam could make sense of, anyway. He was muttering something and moving his hands over the door, practically peeling away those weird symbols and letters with some force none of them could see.   
  
"I fucking told you to _stop!"_ Bucky spat viciously and Sam was lying if he said he didn't jump a little at the tone. Steve's hands balled into fists but he didn't respond. Then Bucky smacked his hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut.   
  
"Bucky," Steve said.   
  
"I'm really not having a good feeling about what's about to happen," Tony mumbled.   
  
Bucky screamed, muffled behind his hand that was clamped tightly over his lips. He still kept his eyes closed. Then came words Sam wasn't sure were in any language he'd ever heard.   
  
It was Tony who reacted first, holding up his phone. "Friday, what is he saying?"   
  
"I don't have the resources to translate it," she answered quickly. "But it's-"  
  
"Sumerian," Strange answered. "He's trying to stop me."   
  
Bucky smacked his other hand over his mouth and jerked to the side suddenly, slamming his head into the wall. "Hey!" Steve snapped, jolting forward to stop him. Bucky didn't stop and Sam realized that Bucky was still in control of his body, just not his mouth. He was trying to knock himself unconscious to stop the demon from speaking through him. And that took the cake for the most fucked up thing Sam had ever realized. Steve reached him, grabbing him by the arms but Bucky shoved him back before slamming his head into the wall again, this time leaving a crack in the plaster. He stumbled, nearly falling and clearly dizzy but he didn't stop. It was like watching a bad, slapstick comedy but Sam couldn't bring himself to laugh.   
  
Steve grabbed Bucky by the shirt this time. "Stop it! You're going to hurt yourself!"   
  
Bucky still screamed in Sumerian behind his hands and he kicked at Steve, trying to keep him away.   
  
"Jesus," Tony muttered, unsure of what to do. He and Sam both knew they weren't going to be much help here, Bucky being strong enough to take on the both of them.   
  
Bucky ran at the wall one last time and Sam yelped when he heard the crash. Peter did too. Bucky had gone right through the wall and promptly fell unconscious. He was halfway in Peter's room, halfway out. Tony was there in a flash, throwing open the door to the room, alarm in his eyes. Sam rushed to the doorway, looking over Tony's shoulder. Peter wasn't there. The bed was rumpled, blankets thrown aside but where was-  
  
"Boy, you guys have a really weird wake-up call thing going on." Sam and Tony both looked up, and there was Peter, clinging to the roof. Sam wasn't ever going to get used to this shit.   
  
Tony sighed but it was plainly one of relief, even if he closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked back up at the ceiling and said, "Are you okay?"  
  
"Little freaked out. A guy screaming gibberish just ran through my wall." Peter let himself down, doing a neat little flip before landing on his feet out of Bucky's reach. "But I mean it's cool, I can handle it."   
  
"That makes one of us," Sam muttered. He looked over to Bucky and Steve. He wasn't sure if it was safe to get closer.   
  
"Damn stubborn son of a bitch," Steve was mumbling angrily under his breath as he rolled Bucky over onto his back. "Smash your head open on a wall when we could've just stuffed a damn sock in your mouth, God damn it, Bucky." He pulled at the skin under Bucky's eyes, checking his pupils with the flashlight of his phone. He let out an agitated breath when he stood up, and pointed at them. "He ever calls _me_ brash or impulsive or suicidal or anything like that again, I'm gonna hit him, I swear to God."   
  
"Can I hit him too?" Sam and Tony asked at about the same time.   
  
"No!" Steve snapped when he brushed by them on his way out to the hallway.   
  
Wanda's bedroom door was open. Only a little, but it'd been closed before. Strange still stood in the hall, looking back over his shoulder at the rest of them.   
  
Then, the door was pulled open the rest of the way. Wanda stood there, and she didn't look as tired as Sam would've expected. She looked alert, almost afraid, and she said, "Something terrible is happening here."  
  
"Yeah, Clint was eating microwave burritos last night," Tony offered. Sam could read his concern easily enough despite the joke.   
  
"My name is Stephen Strange." He held out a hand and Wanda took it. "I have good reason to believe you were subject to a demonic attack."  
  
Wanda closed her eyes, concentrating. "It was something-" She shook her head and looked at him. "Something so dark and cruel. I've never felt anything like it before. I felt like I was drowning. Seeing the world through some...foggy lense, or from beneath the sea."  
  
Strange nodded slowly as she spoke, and Steve looked back at Bucky, as if he couldn't believe that something like this was happening to all of them. "It went for you first because it knew you were a threat. I'm sorry to say, it's not going to stop. Not until I can get rid of it."  
  
Wanda nodded slowly, like she'd been expecting as much. Sam wondered if she had experience in this area or what. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.   
  
"No," Steve said. "You've already been hurt by this enough."  
  
She pressed her lips together. "I'm fine. It just weakened me, that's all."  
  
"It doesn't seem safe," Steve insisted. Sam kind of shared his sentiments there. If it knocked Wanda out like it had just because of her potential to threaten it, he didn't want to know what it'd do if she started actively fighting it.   
  
Before Wanda could argue, Strange stepped in. "There's not a whole lot to be done at this juncture, anyway. We need information first, not action." He looked from Wanda to Steve and said, "If I remember right, the news was reporting that Barnes had been with Hydra for seventy years. That's a lot of personnel over the years. One of them could know something valuable. Is there anyone we can contact for questioning?"  
  
Sam knew a good chunk of Hydra had been arrested in America. A lot of them fled over to Europe or South America. But only a small subset of them had ever worked with the Winter Soldier. The politician, Pierce, was dead. Sam assumed he would've known the most. He looked to Steve, who seemed like he already had a few names in mind but wasn't exactly excited about having to bring them in. "Let me talk with Natasha and Clint and we'll see what we can do."   
  
"Great," Tony said, clapping his hands together. "I love a good party." Sam did too, but this was turning into a pretty shitty one with every hour that passed.   
  
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac Murphy borrowed from [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot) with permission(permission requested like a million years ago but still). Hope I didn't butcher him too badly!
> 
> This fic will end up being more than 10 chapters, I think. Rejoice or despair, whichever!

"Anybody ever tell you if you give somebody a look like that, it'll stick?" Rumlow said to Bucky, lips crooked up in a grin at the corner.

"Anybody ever tell you that you're the biggest asshole they ever met?" Bucky shot back. His arms were crossed over his chest and he'd been scowling since Steve and Tony had escorted Rumlow into the cell.

"I'd say I'm hurt, but we all know that pan-fried brain of yours isn't capable of forming its own opinions," Rumlow said.  
  
Bucky frowned and briefly held a hand to his temple, like maybe he could feel through his skull to any of the damaged parts of his brain. Sam snorted. Sure, he took his own pot-shots at Bucky all the time, but Rumlow wasn't authorized to do the same. There was a hierarchy to maintain here. "It's okay Bucky. Some of us just aren't fast enough to outrun a collapsing skyscraper and it makes you cranky." He shrugged nonchalantly.   
  
"That's why you're in jail," Bucky said smugly to Rumlow.  
  
"Nah. I'm in jail because I never managed to get fucked by Captain America," he responded easily. The implication, naturally, went right over Bucky's head, but Rumlow plainly hadn't meant the jab for him anyway. He blinked his lashes in mock flirtation at Steve, who said nothing as he double-checked Rumlow's restraints. "I hear you're into strong brunettes so I don't know how I got passed over like that."  
  
"Something about being a total Nazi dickhead putting demonic curses on their World War II POWs," Tony offered, tugging on the ankle cuffs one last time before pushing himself to his feet. He shrugged. "Plenty of fish in the sea, though. Maybe you'll meet somebody during visiting hours one day."

"Got news for you, I didn't play around with that shit," Rumlow said. He was testing his mobility. It was a short test. "I've seen a lot of things with Hydra, but demons? I got a line, okay, and that's where I draw it."

Tony snorted obnoxiously. He didn't look up from his phone as he spoke, "Right, so standing by while a man is tortured for seventy years, that's fine and dandy. Murdering dissidents, also good. But demons? That's a line your moral fiber won't allow you to cross."  
  
"I never _murdered_ a single damn person," Rumlow said with the kind of agitation that came from a man being nagged by his wife on a nightly basis for staying out too late. "I fought insurgents and terrorists, same as Cap and Romanoff and Barton, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," Bucky muttered and Rumlow rolled his eyes instantly.  
  
"What would you know?" Rumlow sneered. "You get a live feed to my GoPro in your fucking ice box? They set you up with 1080p between the Stouffer's lasagne and a bag of peas? Shut up."  
  
" _You_ shut up!" Bucky spat back in a totally mature and not at all petulant tone of voice.  
  
"Everybody shut up," Tony said, now rubbing at his temples. "Nat's back, so she can baby sit now." He headed for the door, prompting the rest of them to follow. Sam didn't miss when he mumbled, "And I can get blitzed so this'll all start to make a little sense. Just a _tiny_ bit of sense." Maybe somewhere deep down, Tony knew that wasn't going to pan out. He had work to do, anyway. Friday's brain wasn't going to rewire itself, and hell if anybody else here except for maybe Scott and Peter knew how to help fix it.  
  
"We'll be back for some questioning shortly," Steve said in a surprisingly professional voice. He wasn't giving Rumlow any kind of reactions or jabs, which Sam had to admit was kind of impressive. He hated the guy after like ten minutes of interacting with him and had a feeling that would've been the same whether said ten minutes had been a fist fight to the death or not.  
  
"Yeah, can't wait," Rumlow muttered, scoping out the room. He wasn't going anywhere. Even if he managed to get out of the restraints, there was nowhere for him to go. Everyone had taken cracks at the door to the containment units, including Steve and Bucky, and nobody could get any of them to budge. That had been kind of a fun afternoon, though. Unless Rumlow had spontaneously developed the same kind of telekinetic powers that Wanda had, he'd be there when they got back.   
  
The four of them headed back upstairs to ground level. When they made it to the stairwell, Bucky ventured to ask, "Do we really have to have him here?"  
  
"Only long enough for Doctor Strange to try to get whatever he needs out of him," Steve answered evenly. He really did have a strong and reassuring kind of voice. It made Sam feel like things could actually turn out alright. Somebody needed to figure out how to bottle that quality and sell it as an incense or tea or something for difficult evenings.  
  
"Just don't like him," Bucky muttered.  
  
"Nobody likes him," Sam said.

"What about the other guy?" Tony asked. He pushed open the door to the main level. It led to a kind of meeting/reception area that rarely saw any use except for an occasional press conference.  
  
Bucky shrugged like he didn't have an opinion. Or maybe just not a strong one. Steve let out a breath through his nose like he did have an opinion but it wasn't a terribly kind one yet neither was it horrible enough to start ranting over. "You'll see," he said instead.   
  
Nat came in shortly after they made it upstairs, and she looked ready to end her life. Her expression wasn't quite the perfectly neutral one she usually wore as the guy explained to her that he'd been in Japan protesting the slaughtering of whales there and how he had difficulty coming to terms with the clash between a cultural tradition and the lives of animals. "...because maybe it's an imperialist mindset, to impose my culture's morals onto another society that I'm not a part of. But the carnage, the devastation, it's so hard to sit by and do nothing! And I finally said to myself-"

"Steve," Natasha nearly snapped as soon as she saw the man. "Your guest is here. Take him. Now." She sank her fingers into his arm, dragged him through the foyer and shoved him just a little towards Steve.

The guy didn't seem to notice or care about the callous treatment. "Captain Rogers!" He beamed like he was greeting an old friend or a distant cousin. 

Sam stared for just a moment. Then he asked, "Is this guy for real?" but went unanswered.   
  
"Murphy," Steve said more like he was steeling his resolve than actually greeting the guy.

Sam knew from Steve and Nat that Isaac Murphy was one of two surviving members of the STRIKE team that worked closely with the Winter Soldier. Rumlow was the only other. Murphy had slipped through the cracks of the judicial system with either a devastating amount of skill or blind stinking luck. There had been a lot of rats to chase down, after all, and once they'd nabbed Rumlow, Murphy wasn't as much of a priority anymore. When he was contacted by Natasha, he greeted her warmly and actually asked how she was doing. As if he wasn't a fugitive from the law who had just been found by one of the original Avengers.

That had been Sam's first clue that the guy was either scarily competent and unafraid of being caught, or incredibly naive. He waffled back and forth between the two options, and figured soon the answer would be clear when the guy got here. It wasn't.  
  
"How are you doing? It's been almost a year, right?" Murphy asked, all enthusiasm as he extended a hand.   
  
Steve half-heartedly took it, maybe out of sheer habit more than anything else. Murphy didn't seem to notice the lackluster response. "I'm not really interested in catching up with you. You're here to tell us about Bucky."

"Who?"

"The Winter Soldier," Steve said, nodding over at Bucky. He held up a hand and wiggled his fingers from the seat at the table he'd taken. There was clearly much less animosity between Bucky and Murphy, but Sam had no idea why. Maybe they hadn't interacted as much.

"Ohh Winter! How are you?" Here Murphy paused for just a moment to shift the jacket draped over his arm to reveal a plate of food. "I brought these special brownies just in case you were around."

There was a sudden banging noise from overhead. Everyone tensed, wondering if the demon was going to flip out given the arrival of a new individual, one who might lead them to identifying it. Sam even made sure to take a few steps back against the wall, just in case. Then Clint all but fell out of a vent and cleared his throat before standing up straight again. "Special brownies?" He'd clearly been hiding from Murphy, but still wanted a vantage point to be of some help if he was needed. Sam snorted when he realized that the power of potential pot compelled him to abandon his shelter.

Murphy nodded enthusiastically and held up the plate wrapped in plastic. "Yes. Made with black beans and avocado, completely vegan, and gluten free."

Sam stared and when it became apparent that no one else was going to ask, he said, "Is this guy for real?"

Clint sighed loudly before muttering, "My freaking luck in this place." He drained the rest of his beer as he sauntered over towards Bucky. He dropped the empty bottle into the wastebasket tucked away in the corner by the coffee machine.

"Oh," Murphy said, scurrying behind Clint. He pulled the glass bottle out of the trash and said, "This is recyclable. In case you weren't sure. And-" He glanced back into the garbage and mumbled, "Oh..." He dug through some more, plopping a banana peel on the counter. "Compost material." Some thin piece of cardboard. "Also recyclable, or compostable if you-" He gasped. "Oh, no!" He pulled out a couple Keurig pods and held them up. "You can't keep using these. They're terrible for the environment. I know where you can get some reusable-"

"Murphy," Steve said, a little sternly. "You can dig through our garbage later. Right now I need you to tell me some things about Bucky."

Murphy gave a small sigh, glancing almost forlornly at the garbage and Sam still wasn't sure what to make of a guy who walks into the den of his enemies and wants to sort their trash for them. He set the used pods on the coffee table all the same. Then he wiped his hands off on his shirt. "Okay. What's going on with Winter? Is he alright?"

Sam had spent a lot of time with Steve, both in uniform and out of it. He'd gotten used to his tells and what his facial expressions meant. That's how he knew that the way Steve's brow twitched meant he was really trying hard to contain an outburst, probably something like, _How the hell can you pretend to care about the welfare of a man who you helped brainwash and torture_ _for years_ _?_ Instead, he said, "No, he's not. Because of Hydra."

"Well, I know we all have our ideological differences," Murphy said in a gentle voice. He laid a hand on Steve's shoulder and Sam was again thrown back to the 'maybe he's actually so competent he knows he has no reason to be afraid of us' camp. Because Steve's jaw was clenching pretty hard right now and Murphy didn't seem to be bothered by that murderous expression that was trying so hard to crack Steve's calm facade. "But hopefully we can learn a little from each other to work towards a better future."

There was a very tense silence and Sam was honestly waiting for Steve to break the guy in half. Steve's eyes closed for a minute. He drew in a breath through his nose, and Sam wished he could ask Wanda if he would've been right to assume the words 'do it for Bucky' were recycling through his head, the only mantra standing between him and a blinding rage that would put the Hulk to shame. So it was a testament to Steve's character and devotion to his friend when he said in a calm voice, "Okay. Let's go talk about what happened, and what you might know."

"Absolutely," Murphy said with a supportive smile. He patted Steve on the back and Sam stifled a small giggle, unwilling to give Steve a place to unload that pent up rage.  
  
Steve led the way back downstairs. Sam was pretty sure he was purposefully taking longer, quicker strides to avoid Murphy. But that didn't bother the guy. Instead he yammered into Bucky's ear about what he'd been up to since Insight and Bucky was too busy with the brownies to bother with much of a response. Sam hung back with Nat and Clint and said, "How come the demon can't even be the weirdest part of this whole thing?"  
  
"Because there is no God and nothing matters," Natasha answered flatly. Everything about it was the most Russian way Sam had ever witnessed her behave so he didn't argue with her.  
  
Steve used his thumbprint to unlock the door, and Rumlow let out a groan of "Oh Christ" when he saw Murphy. He sank deeper in his chair but Murphy didn't seem bothered.  
  
"Brock! You're looking...better!" Murphy said with a smile.  
  
"You let them bring you here, you dumbass?" Rumlow snapped.  
  
"They said they had some questions about Winter. I wanted to make sure he was okay..."

"You-you call him Winter," Clint said, a laugh ready to break through.

"Winter is a perfectly fine name," Murphy said but it was more like he was trying to reassure Bucky instead of defend his own use of the moniker.

"So's Bucky," the man in question muttered around an avocado and black bean brownie. The dude had no tastebuds, that's what Sam decided.

"Yeah, for a dog," Rumlow said.  
  
"You _look_ like a dog," Bucky snapped back, once again showing off his talent for witticisms.

"It's okay, Winter. Whatever name you like is a great one," Murphy said.

"Are you real?" Sam asked for maybe the fiftieth time since they'd dragged Murphy in for questioning. Murphy blinked like he didn't understand the question. "I mean, I thought Hydra was like, the purest of all evils. But you're like Mister Rogers or something. Out here saving the whales, talking about self-esteem, vegan brownies, I mean-" He waved a hand because what else was there to say?

"I don't think vegan diets were a thing when Steve's old man was around," Bucky said, nose scrunching like it did when he was confused as hell. So, always.

"No, Mister Rogers is-" Sam started but then Rumlow cut him off.

"There's no explaining things to the Soldier, it just goes in one ear and out the other," Rumlow said.

Bucky fixed him with a stare that could probably curdle milk and in a shrill voice he cried, "Gee, I wonder why that might be! Could it have to do with repeated exposure to an electric current designed to sever neural connections?!"

Rumlow snorted, unimpressed. "You sure turned into a drama queen."

"Would a drama queen do this?!" Bucky demanded, jumping to his feet. Sam and Steve had to take him by the arms and Sam was pretty sure Steve was doing most of the pulling. Because Sam thought if Bucky really wanted to, he could throw Sam at the bastard sitting across from them right now.  
  
"That's _exactly_ what a drama queen would have done, yes," Rumlow responded, settling a little further in his chair.   
  
Bucky stiffened, and glanced first at Steve, who shrugged a little, and then Sam, who nodded. "Well, yeah."  
  
Bucky sighed angrily and shook them both off, turning away before giving himself the chance to see Rumlow's smug grin.   
  
They all spun around when they heard a new, but familiar voice from behind them. "I was under the impression that at some point in time, we'd be doing something to deal with the demonic possession," Strange said, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He threw his hands up and shrugged. "I mean, if you're all still interested."  
  
"Didn't even need the brownies," Clint mumbled, staring at Strange.   
  
"This fucking guy," Rumlow muttered like he wasn't exactly surprised that some dude had just materialized in the room but neither was he happy about it.  
  
"How did you-" Murphy asked, eyes round.  
  
"Will you _stop_ doing that?" Sam snapped. "Popping in and out when we got demons out here! Damn! You're just asking for somebody to punch you!"  
  
Strange cocked his head and gave Sam the kind of look that made him feel like he was thirteen again and he'd just sassed his own mother. "I'm sorry, did you all think you were the only people with problems in the entire universe? This might come to you as a shock, but I'm kind of a busy guy." He pulled one of the two chairs out from the lone table in the room, and settled into it like he owned the place. "Now. Can we get to work or what?"  
  
Steve and Sam exchanged glances before Steve blew out a sigh and nodded. "Okay. Murphy, Rumlow, do you two have any information regarding a...um, a demon possessing Bucky? How it was done, who did it, when it was done, anything at all?" Steve really did just dive right in. Granted the two had been briefed in separate conversations during transit. Still, Sam had no idea what they thought of the whole mess.  
  
"I actually had some ideas about that," Murphy said. He was left free to move and he took a step towards the table. Sam was kind of relieved the guy was just going to cooperate, whereas Rumlow seemed more interested in getting whatever reactions he could out of Bucky.   
  
"Please, yes, any information you have could be useful," Strange said, apparently just as relieved as Sam.   
  
"Okay. Well, my _abuelita_ used to say that in your hardest times you should appeal to Mary and the Saints, especially for matters involving the spirit _._ Do you have any votive candles with the Virgin Mary? And do you know Hail Mary and the rosary?"   
  
Strange sighed and dropped his face into his hands, rubbing slightly.   
  
Bucky squinted thoughtfully. "I think my family was Jewish. I think that's what Steve said."  
  
"Yes, Bucky, they were Jewish," Steve answered tiredly.  
  
"So I don't know if Jesus related things help me," Bucky added with a shrug.   
  
"Yeah, 70 years of murder and mayhem would've put Jesus off your case anyway," Rumlow said.   
  
"If there's a hell I'll be right there with you," Bucky spat.   
  
"Well I think even if you _are_ Jewish, it couldn't hurt to-" Murphy started before Strange stood up abruptly.   
  
"Religion has nothing to do with any of this, so no. Enough. You're done." Strange waved a hand at Murphy as he spoke, the ex-Hydra agent looking mildly offended but too polite to say anything about it. "Demons pre-date humanity, they pre-date our _galaxy_ , so a few Hail Maries and rubbing on some plastic beads isn't going to do anything here."  
  
"So all religions are pointless?" Sam asked, having to be honest that he wasn't terribly fond of that notion. Maybe he wasn't the most devout person in the world, but he still liked to think there was _something_ going on after all this was over.   
  
"When did I say that?" Strange asked, spreading his hands like the answer might be in one of them. "Your personal beliefs are just that-personal. Your beliefs help you as much as _you_ let them. Demons aren't put off by religious rituals, they're put off by the strength of a belief itself, regardless of the source. If Barnes doesn't even _know_ what religion he's affiliated with without checking in with someone else, no amount of prayer from _any_ religion is going to do anything for him." Strange closed his eyes, like he needed a minute to calm down before he started screaming. Then he let out a breath and opened them again. "I know _how_ to deal with demons. I don't need help on that front. I need information _about_ the specific demon."

"We don't know shit about any demons or whatever," Rumlow said like he was bored with this whole thing.   
  
Steve cocked an eyebrow. It was the dangerous eyebrow, not the fun one. "But you said you might know something."  
  
Rumlow shrugged. "I said whatever would get me out of prison for a day trip."   
  
Strange dropped his head into his hands and began wiping his palms over his face. "I swear this is like pulling teeth." He looked up again. "Literally, I have done brain surgery that was simpler and more enjoyable."  
  
"You know..." Murphy said tentatively. After the last verbal beatdown he'd taken from Strange, Sam understood the guy's hesitation. But he was looking at Rumlow, not the rest of them. Sam watched carefully, looking for hand signals, tapping fingers, even Morse code in their blinks. He wasn't about to sit here while one telegraphed his plans to help spring the other. But Murphy kept talking. "Remember those stories people told around Halloween?"  
  
"You're gonna have to be more specific. There's a lot of horror stories involving this dumbass," Rumlow said, jerking his chin in Bucky's direction.  
  
"About to be one more if you don't shut up," Bucky growled. Sam kicked him and shot him a warning look. They were finally getting somewhere, and he wasn't about to let the conversation get away from them again.   
  
Murphy glanced at Bucky and then back to Rumlow. "The haunted one. About how nobody wanted to do the rounds in the vault in October."  
  
Sam was parked in the chair between Steve and Bucky and he felt both of them tense at once at the mention of the vault. No doubt it was two very different kinds of tension. There was Bucky's 'I want to shrink and disappear' kind of tension and Steve's 'I want to beat in the face of everyone that ever existed' kind of tension. It made Sam uncomfortable.   
  
Rumlow narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. "Yeah," he said slowly before he sat up straighter and leaned forward as far as his restraints permitted. He was trying to point at Murphy but wasn't having much luck. "Yeah you're right. They said there was a ghost in there. That one gal even showed us the footage before somebody erased it. Remember? That chick with the nice, big-"  
  
"Don't be a pig, man," Sam put in, curling a lip at the thought of even some Hydra tech being ogled by a scumbag like Brock Rumlow.  
  
Rumlow raised his eyebrows, as if offended. "I was going to say _smile."  
  
_ Bucky's eyebrows knitted together and he turned at Sam, who knew what he was going to say before the words even came out of his mouth. "Why is he a pig for liking her smile?" he asked, as if he'd picked the question out of Sam's brain. There was a hint of concern there, too, like he was worried that maybe he was guilty, too.  
  
"Jesus," Strange muttered into his hand, barely audible behind Rumlow's obnoxious laughter.   
  
"Focus," Steve said on a sigh. "The vault."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Rumlow said, still snickering a little. "They did regular checks on all the equipment down there, whether he was in or out or whatever. They were scheduled once a week, 'cause that shit wasn't exactly expendable, okay?" Sam saw the way Rumlow's hands jerked and waved, trying to gesture but stopped by the restraints every time. "Only in October, nobody wanted to go down there. I always thought it was just people being stupid and scaring each other 'cause look, it's kind of creepy when you're the only one there, you know? You got that freezer humming, you can see his dead ugly face behind the glass, that fucking electric chair, in this super sterile environment."  
  
"I wasn't _dead_ I was in _suspended animation_ ," Bucky corrected, apparently unbothered with being ugly so long as everyone knew he wasn't dead.  
  
"Whatever," Rumlow said with a shrug. "Point is, people would talk about how shit down there would move on its own, or the lights would cut in and out, things like that. I never believed it."  
  
"I did," Murphy put in.  
  
"Of course you fucking did," Rumlow said.   
  
"I wasn't the only one," Murphy said. "And you believed it, once you saw the tape."  
  
Rumlow nodded like he was admitting to a crime. Which, ironically, was not the same expression he wore when admitting to actual crimes. "Hard to deny it. All this shit was being thrown around. Stuff too heavy to just be somebody pulling a prank with some fishing wire. Electricity going on and off. Chair going off on its own."  
  
"Did anyone ever tell either of you what it was?" Strange demanded, leaning forward like he had to protect this line of conversation from being broken. It was fair. They tended to be an easily distracted bunch, which in retrospect probably wasn't a good quality for a team of superheroes to have. But they'd made it this far, Sam figured.  
  
Rumlow shook his head. "Higher ups pretended not to know. I asked Pierce once and he just laughed it off. He has a way with words, you know?" Here he grinned at Bucky, who wouldn't look him in the eye. "When I tried to bring up the footage, it was gone."  
  
Murphy nodded enthusiastically. "There were a lot of secrets. So people had a lot of theories. I thought it was Winter's ghost, because it only happened when he was frozen. But he was always frozen that time of year."  
  
"Jack had that story about the Indian graveyard or whatever," Rumlow muttered with a half-grin, like he thought it was stupid but endearing all at the same time.   
  
"There was the 'electromagnetic phenomenon' thing that Doctor Riviera came up with to try to explain it rationally," Murphy added.   
  
Rumlow snapped his fingers suddenly, still unable to gesture but trying his damndest. "What was that weird one? About the dead doctor? What'd they call him-"  
  
"Malpractice!" Murphy answered back with a snap of his own fingers.  
  
This time, Sam felt Bucky do more than stiffen up. He flinched, drew in on himself a little. If Sam hadn't been sitting right next to him, he might not have even noticed.   
  
"Yeah! Doctor Malpractice! Christ what a stupid name, like some B movie villain," Rumlow griped.   
  
"Who was he supposed to be a ghost of?" Strange asked like it wasn't just some stupid story people had made up.  
  
"Hell if I know," Rumlow said. "Some German doctor-"  
  
"Pohlmann," Bucky said in a quiet voice. Sam might not have noticed if he wasn't standing so close. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," Bucky said and turned away abruptly. He was taking shallow breaths through his nose in sharp pulls. Then he looked back at Steve. "This was stupid. You shouldn't have brought either of them here."  
  
"You gonna get rid of us just like that?" Rumlow said with another patronizing look.   
  
Sam was expecting a petulant remark or some other immature snipe. But Bucky suddenly turned and launched himself across the table like last time. Shouts went up immediately. Rumlow couldn't move, bound to the chair. Steve scrambled for Bucky. Natasha took Murphy and jerked him away before he could either try to escape in the confusion or attempt to help Rumlow. Sam stood rooted to the spot and he couldn't figure out why. He just suddenly felt like a deer that had been spotted by a wolf, even if no one was looking his way. Strange sat perfectly still, watching Bucky very carefully.   
  
Bucky held Rumlow's face in his hands, thumbs resting under his eyes. Rumlow gritted his teeth and jerked and pulled and Steve tried to wrench Bucky away. He wouldn't budge. "You think you know hell because you lived through a fire," Bucky said in a low, dangerous voice. Rumlow let out a kind of hissing noise, teeth ground together. Bucky was squeezing tighter.   
  
"Bucky, Jesus, stop it!" Steve shouted, trying again to pull his friend away.   
  
"You think you know _pain_ , you small, insignificant animal?" Bucky continued. His arm whirred suddenly, plates shuffling together and Rumlow let out a full on scream. "You think I will kill you. You think this will end. But I am not merciful." There was something completely wrong with Bucky's voice. Not just the flat, colorless tone. It was like two people talking at once, an echo, and of course Bucky speaking like this made Sam uncomfortable. But the other voice kept chilled him down to his bones, made him feel empty, hopeless. Some useless, pointless thing. He suddenly felt the briefness of his own existence, a dust mote that would float through a beam of light before disappearing from sight all in the blink of an eye. "Killing you would be a kindness, and I am not _kind._ "  
  
"That's enough," Strange said. As soon as he spoke, Sam felt like he'd been pulled back to reality and he wondered at his own inaction. Unfortunately he still felt drained and purposeless, like anything he did would amount to nothing in the end.   
  
Bucky let go of Rumlow, who jerked his head back and spat blood. Sam didn't miss the fear in his eyes, even if he was trying to hide it. This was not Hydra's submissive asset. This wasn't what Rumlow was used to handling. Bucky stood on the table, and turned to face Strange. His fingers twitched. "Never will it be enough."  
  
"That sounds a bit like a personal problem," Strange said, raising a hand. "Now, you remember what happened last time-"  
  
Bucky screamed then and threw himself at Strange. Steve scrambled to his feet to try to pull him off. Sam and Clint moved, too. Gold sparks flew, blinding them for a second. Then there was an awful noise as Bucky vomited in Strange's face.   
  
"Shit!" Sam yelped, jerking his hands back. Then he took a breath-an awful, gross, vomit-scented breath-and snatched at Bucky's arm again.   
  
Strange still uttered whatever weird chants he had up his sleeve, going on like someone hadn't just puked all over him. Bucky laughed hysterically, tried to claw at Strange. Sam put everything he had into holding his arm back. Steve had one arm wrapped around his chest and the other was reaching for his left arm to help Clint keep it back. "We know your name Stephen Strange, we know we know we know," Bucky said, or tried to. He was laughing so much it was difficult to make out much. "But you don't know ours, you don't know you don't-"  
  
Steve jerked hard on Bucky's left arm, trying to pull it behind his back. Bucky screamed and growled like a monster and then-  
  
Sam's world spun for a moment, going black at the edges. It took him a second to register what'd happened. Bucky had gotten his leg behind Sam's neck and slammed his head into the floor. He pushed himself back up, movements sluggish but persistent. Clint was sprawled out on his back. Steve was struggling to keep Bucky from throwing himself at Strange again. There was blood trickling from his nose where Bucky had probably broken it with a headbutt.   
  
Another flash of movement and Bucky slammed his elbow into Steve's side again and again. It gave him just enough leeway to get free. But Strange wasn't fucking around anymore.   
  
Bucky jumped. A hoop of gold sparks exploded in front of Strange. Then Bucky was gone. If it weren't for all the puke and injuries, no one would've ever known he was there. Everyone caught their breath, Strange wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands. "He doesn't have any blood-borne pathogens I should be made aware of, right?"  
  
"Where the hell is he?" Steve demanded, pressing a hand against his nose to conceal the blood.  
  
Strange held up his soiled hands. "He's stuck in a loop right now. Whatever possessed him is getting too strong for the normal stuff to work and I needed a quick fix before he, well, killed all of us. So."  
  
Steve looked around before letting out a sigh. "Is everyone okay?"  
  
"Sam and Clint need to be checked for a concussion and you need to have someone look at your ribs and nose," Natasha said. She let go of Murphy, who stared at the mess Bucky had made of them, too stunned to speak. "The prison isn't going to be very happy with us, either." She jerked her head at Rumlow, who was, unfortunately, still conscious. His face was screwed up in pain as he took careful breaths. If Sam had to guess, some part of his skull was fractured.   
  
Steve nodded slowly, looking over everyone again. Then he settled his eyes on Strange. "I'm sorry. That he threw up on you and tried to kill you."  
  
"I made my peace with that kind of treatment when I entered medical school," he responded. "And besides. It wasn't him."  
  
"Is Bucky..." Steve started. Then he took a breath. "We can still save him." It wasn't a question. Steve couldn't allow it to be.  
  
Strange nodded. "This isn't over yet. In a few minutes, I'll bring him back. The thing'll probably get sick of falling through an empty pocket dimension quick enough. Waste of its energy. The doctor these two mentioned, Malpractice, it resonated with him, badly. There's a reason the demon showed up after we learned about it. So we start digging into that as soon as possible."  
  
"I'll pair with Tony and see what we can find in the Hydra files," Natasha said.   
  
"Okay," Steve said. "Let's get cleaned up and arrange a transport to get these two back to prison."  
  
"Prison," Murphy echoed, jerked out of his stunned silence. No one bothered to respond to him save Natasha snapping a pair of cuffs around his wrists.   
  
They began to filter out of the room. Sam was relieved to be getting away from the tiny, enclosed space. He needed to see the sun. Needed to shake off this awful, nihilistic dread before he crawled away into his bed and slept for the next twenty-four hours.   
  
"Rogers," Rumlow said in a ragged voice. He looked serious for the first time since they'd brought him here. Steve waited by the door, permitting the guy to continue. Rumlow shook his head. "You don't try to save a dog that's gone rabid. You put it down."  
  
Steve clenched his jaw and slammed the cell door shut.

 


	9. Chapter 9

With Friday still offline, Strange helped out with some quick check ups. After he'd cleaned himself off, anyway. Sam and Steve were lucky enough to have made it out of the scuffle without a concussion, but Clint hadn't. So he was slamming extra coffees to keep himself from falling for the temptation of sleep, despite Strange's insistence that it wasn't the best idea. Bucky _had_ broken Steve's nose. Natasha helped him set it before heading off to find Tony. Steve's ribs were, luckily, all in one piece. So they had that going for them.   
  
That was about the time Wanda found them. She had that guilty look in her eyes like if she had insisted on joining them during the interrogation then none of them would've gotten hurt. Maybe it could've been true, but it didn't matter. None of it was her fault. As if on cue, she said, "I should have been there."  
  
"No," Steve said easily, like he'd been expecting that the same as Sam.   
  
"I could have stopped-"  
  
"And it could rain M&Ms so instead of floods people would have candy and they'd be like, 'wow I love monsoon season it's delicious' but here we are," Clint said, spreading his hands. His leg was bouncing and he was speaking kind of fast. Then he shook his head and whispered to himself, "Oh shit, but the water cycle, right..."   
  
"Don't worry so much," Sam added in a somewhat more coherent fashion. "We're alright. Nothing we couldn't all handle."  
  
"The vomiting was a little much," Strange put in, gesturing at the change of clothes he'd been provided. He and Scott had been fairly close in pants size. So those looked normal. Tony's Megadeath T-shirt was a little less conventional. But then again the dude dressed like a wizard so who knew what 'conventional' meant for him.  
  
Wanda crossed her arms and tried to accept what they were saying. But it was clear she still felt like she should be pitching in more. She looked at Steve and asked, "Is Bucky okay? He isn't here."  
  
"I knew I forgot something," Sam heard Strange mutter immediately as he strode out of the room.  
  
"You _forgot,_ " Steve echoed, voice rising to follow Strange down the hall. Steve sighed and rubbed at his eyes before he turned away to go after the man.  
  
Sam shrugged at Wanda before catching up with Steve. "Gotta admit, it's been peaceful," Sam said. Given the sour expression, Steve didn't see things that way.   
  
"It'll be peaceful when this is all over," Steve said. They found Strange in the lobby, walking into the large room just in time to see him working his hands in one of those golden circles again. It looked considerably goofier without the sorcerer regalia but that part apparently wasn't a necessity. Which raised some questions but Sam figured it wasn't the best time to ask.  
  
A ring of sparks opened in the air above one of the couches and Sam squinted because he thought he heard someone singing, badly, from far away. Getting closer. And closer.  
  
" _Hold the li-ine! Love isn't always on time! Oh oh-_ "   
  
Bucky hit the couch face first. He felt it with his right hand as if to be sure it was real before he pushed himself up, still humming _Hold the Line_ as he did so.   
  
"Man, stop. I'm going to have that in my head all day now," Sam snapped.   
  
"Well," Bucky said, pushing his hair back out of his face. He had that concentrated look, like he did when he explained things to them that no one cared about, except maybe Steve and Natasha but only out of politeness. "I didn't know how long I'd be there in that...black hole thing. And I didn't want to go insane if I could help it so I thought if I focused on something-"  
  
"I only planned on keeping you there for a few minutes. Long enough to make the demon release its hold on you," Strange said.   
  
"We got a little distracted," Steve said. "Sorry."  
  
Sam shot him an incredulous look. "Oh yeah. You should definitely apologize, with your broken nose and all."  
  
Steve shot a look right back. "It's not his fault."  
  
Sam knew that. He really did. It was kind of a freakish pattern in Bucky's life, him committing acts of violence he didn't want to at someone else's whims. But all the same, he didn't like Steve assuming responsibility for it all. The guy had enough of his own concerns to be taking on Bucky's too. It wasn't a healthy way to live and he liked Steve too much to watch him crush himself under that kind of weight. "I didn't say it was. But there's nothing for _you_ to be apologizing for."  
  
Strange seemed to sense the tension and said, "We have our next lead. Let's focus on that."  
  
Bucky's face fell instantly at the reminder. His hair made it hard to see what kind of expression he was wearing, but he didn't say anything.   
  
"Natasha's gone to see if Tony and Friday can help find any info on the guy," Steve mentioned. Presumably for Bucky, since Strange and Sam already knew. Bucky said nothing in response. So of course, Steve had to do whatever he could to spare him any discomfort. He dropped down on the couch beside Bucky and said in a low voice, "I know this isn't any fun, but we're close."  
  
"How do you know that?" Bucky muttered back. "Look at what I did to you. To everybody."  
  
"You didn't..."  
  
Strange casually stepped away towards Sam, turning his back to the two on the couch. He looked out the floor to ceiling windows that made up the front of the lobby and scanned the nicely manicured lawn and driveway. It was a pretty area, meant to receive journalists, news crews, politicians, intelligence agencies, and high-ranking military personnel. Sam would've liked a pool better. "How are things, between those two? Generally speaking?" Strange asked quietly.  
  
Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Disgustingly codependent." Strange raised an eyebrow and Sam felt, for Steve's sake, he should clairfy to someone who wasn't in on all their jokes and jabs. "I mean, as good as things can be between a dude seventy years removed from his own time and a dude who had said years burned out of his head."  
  
"But they're close friends?"  
  
Sam wished Clint had come out here too so he had somebody to make childish jokes with. "Uh, yeah, I'd say so." He paused before explaining further because Strange clearly wanted some details. "Steve cares about Bucky. A lot. Not that Bucky doesn't care back but I don't think he, uh-" Sam hadn't ever spoken much to Steve about just what he felt for Bucky. If it was platonic, brotherly, wholesome all-American band of brothers type shit, or if it was something that Sam preferred not to think about. Not because he had a problem with same sex relationships, but because he had a problem with envisioning Bucky 'I haven't had sex in seventy years' Barnes making awkward dirty talk with, well, anyone. And if Steve was into guys, he could do way better. The closest Steve had gotten to saying anything specific about the two of them was a small off-hand comment, so Sam paraphrased it when he said, "Bucky's head's not exactly in the right place, you know? He's got some adjusting to do. But Steve's going to be there for him either way."  
  
Strange seemed to consider that, but didn't say anything. You didn't need coke-bottle glasses to read between those lines, so Sam was sure he picked up on Steve's issue here. He had no idea when Steve had developed any kind of feelings for Bucky, if he had. But it was plain Steve didn't know if it was right to act on them at this point in time. Or ever. Bucky didn't remember much about who he used to be, and Steve was very aware of the amount of power that gave him as the only remotely familiar face in his life. He was so afraid of abusing that power, even unwittingly. So he'd wait for Bucky to take the lead. Even though it seemed like that wasn't ever going to happen. "I ask because the closest ones are going to be the ones it targets first."  
  
"Right," Sam said.   
  
"And Steve seems like the sort of person willing to shoulder a load until it crushes him."  
  
"Yup."  
  
"So it'd be best if there was someone keeping an eye on him, too."   
  
Sam glanced back over his shoulder casually. Steve was quietly discussing something with Bucky, who didn't look terribly pleased about it. Sam couldn't hear them. One of the weirder things about their enhanced hearing was that they could hold those mumbled conversations that you'd have to be right in their laps to hear. He studied Steve's face. The tired way he smiled. The lightest stains under his eyes to betray that he'd been having any difficulty sleeping. The mingled concern and determination he kept in his eyes. The kind of determination that had driven him to nearly kill himself on those helicarriers. "Yeah," Sam said. That was all it took, thinking of that again. Maybe he'd only known Steve for the space of a week at that point, but it was enough. He never wanted to see Steve throw himself headlong into death again. He looked back up at Strange. "Natasha too." She had Clint to commiserate with, but Sam wasn't about to take any chances. Not with a situation as weird as this one.   
  
"Alright." Strange turned away from the window, but didn't step away just yet. "So often in cases like this, we become so focused on the individual suffering from the possession that we miss some of the damage being done to those around them. Sometimes that damage becomes catastrophic."  
  
Sam nodded, able to see how you might miss psychological consequences like those when someone starts screaming at you in Sumerian and puking blood everywhere. He frowned when he thought about Rumlow's remark, about putting rabid dogs down. Then he thought of what Strange had just explained to him, and about his questions concerning Steve's closeness with Bucky. So he asked, "You can be honest with me. I mean, I don't want Bucky to die or anything. But I'm not going to break if I hear it straight. Can you fix him?" It'd be best to know sooner rather than later. Because if it was all too late, and Steve realized that...  
  
"I don't know," Strange admitted. He didn't promise what he couldn't provide. Maybe he did it for Steve because it was what he needed to hear to keep fighting. Sam could, at the very least, appreciate that and his honesty when asked now. He took in a breath. "I'm inclined to think it's going to be difficult for me to do this on my own."   
  
At that, Sam drew his brows together. Not that he knew about the world of sorcerers or whatever the hell Strange was, but if this guy couldn't help them, who could? "What, you need back up from OZ?"  
  
Strange snorted, allowing the jab because Sam didn't line it with the same genuine distaste that Tony did. "No. Everything we need is here. The trick is getting it all to work."  
  
So wizards were as cryptic as movies and books said after all. Sam had no idea where to go with that answer. He tried to piece it together. Strange had said earlier they needed the demon's name. They didn't have that. He'd said belief was an important factor in fighting these things, but Bucky didn't exactly have the strongest convictions. Seventy years of manipulation and brain damage did that to you.

Before Sam could ask for more details, Strange looked at him. "Get Steve to loosen up a little, won't you? Could do a world of good for us, in the end."  
  
Sam would try, but couldn't promise anything. They were all stubborn here, but Steve and Tony took the cake in that department. "I'll do what I can," he said.   
  
Strange didn't say anything else, finally stepping away from the window and back towards Steve and Bucky, neither of whom looked particularly happy. They both looked exhausted and irritated, Bucky drawn up at one end of the couch and Steve at the other end with his arms crossed over his chest. "I think now could be a good time to decompress," Strange said to the room at large. "Take a break from each other. Do something you enjoy, and take your mind off all of this."  
  
Steve's eyes shifted from Strange to the middle distance, but he nodded slowly. Which was good. At least he was trying to take the expert's advice here instead of insisting they just keep pushing through. Sam knew Strange wanted the two of them to have a chat, but Sam saw how tired he was and he thought now might not be the best time to put him through that. So he said, "I might take a damn nap. Nice warm blankets, dark room, soft pillow. And I haven't taken a nap since I was in college."  
  
Steve smirked and Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion. "I take naps almost every day."  
  
"Well I usually sleep at night like a normal and healthy adult so." Sam shrugged here and Bucky's face turned sour at the jab but he didn't argue. That wasn't the point of this anyway.   
  
"You know, sleep sounds kind of good right now anyway," Steve said and a little voice in Sam's head went _yesss._ Telling Steve point blank he needed sleep would make him just do the opposite. This was a trick he'd learned from Natasha. Make the thing you want the other person to do sound appealing. Say you want to do it, then they're more likely to want to, too. Because Sam knew they all had dumb animal brains under all that extra fluff. So while Steve stalked off to hopefully get some rest that wasn't punctuated by some freaky ass dreams, Sam took a little quiet time in his room to catch up on more mundane shit like the news and a couple TV shows.   
  
And Strange was right. It turned out to be a good idea. You couldn't know it, namely because it wasn't the kind of thing most people had to deal with. But doing something normal after dealing with demons really did a lot more for a person's mood then they might think. Some of the awful, ugly weight came off Sam's chest. Not all of it, of course, but any little bit felt nice.   
  
Strange warned them that demonic possessions take a lot more out of everyone involved than they may realize. Sam realized it very easily, seeing as his sleep had been interrupted from day one by Bucky's monster friend leaving invisirunes on Wanda's door. He'd had his handful of nightmares, but it was difficult to tell what the source was. Was it really that outlandish that he was watching a friend crash and burn and it translated the exact way he'd expect in his dreams? It hurt to say, but he was so used to seeing Riley fall that he'd become desensitized. In the dream, he was always panicked and desperate and angry and ashamed. But once he woke up and realized how many years it'd been, it all winnowed away into a buzz of regret, sadness, and ultimately, acceptance. Part of him saw this as progress. It meant he'd accepted what happened, that he was moving on. Part of him wanted to fight it viciously because if he didn't suffer every time he thought of Riley, did he really care that he was gone?  
  
It was stupid and he hated it but he'd come to the conclusion that that's just how human brains were wired. To be as stupid as possible.  
  
After inside quiet time he decided to follow it up with a beer and some outside quiet time. It didn't stay quiet for long, but he figured it was okay. A conversation was easier to deal with than pea soup puke and spinning heads. So it didn't bother him _too_ much when Bucky interrupted the peace of the outdoors with a tentative, "Hey Sam?"  
  
"Hey Bucky?"  
  
Bucky hesitated like he always did when Sam answered his question that way. Then he said, "Um, what?"  
  
"Nothing man I'm just fucking with you." Bucky made a mildly confused face like he always did when Sam admitted to it outright. "What do you want?"  
  
Bucky stepped all the way outside, eyes on one of the bird feeder a few feet away. Sam set it up like a week after moving in despite Tony's griping that he didn't want bird shit getting on the sidewalks or patio. Sam kind of had a feeling Tony didn't mean half of what he said when he got contrarian with people. He was just so used to butting heads with others that it was like the momentum of the habit forced him to say it.   
  
Today, the feeder only exhibited the usual suspects so far. House sparrows and a couple of chickadees. The tenacious little bastards who gave no shits when food was involved. Maybe all the rest knew what kind of madness was going on here and booked it to the farm a few dozen miles away.   
  
"Did you know," Bucky said as he sat down on the other side of the patio table. When Bucky didn't know how to start his conversation with a person, he informed them of a fact he thought they would find interesting. It was weird but Sam had learned more than he'd like to admit from these facts so he didn't pick at the habit. "That cardinals can be yellow sometimes?"  
  
"Bullshit," Sam said.  
  
"It's the truth," Bucky insisted. And he showed Sam a picture. Sure enough it was a yellow cardinal attached to an article from a reputable source. "I swear. It's a really rare mutation and it makes them yellow instead of red."  
  
Sam lifted his eyes from the screen of the phone to look at Bucky's earnest face instead. He looked a little nervous so Sam threw him a bone and said, "That's interesting. Didn't know that could happen."  
  
Bucky's face lit up because his favorite facts to share were ones the person didn't know already. Sam wasn't sure if it was because he was excited to, for once, know a thing someone else didn't, or if he was really just that pleased with himself for giving another person a small piece of happiness or excitement. Probably it was a little of both.   
  
But his expression shifted to one of uncertainty again and normally Sam might sigh and say something like, "Come on already man." Because Bucky had a hard time asking people things directly when it was something serious. More so if it was a topic he had difficulty grasping, since he knew it meant a lot of belabored explanations on the other person's part. But this time, Sam made sure to stay quiet. They'd all had enough tension, so there was no sense in adding more. "So, I wondered," Bucky said and he kept his eyes low as he spoke. "A couple days ago, when Doctor Strange first showed up? Steve told him about that weird dream he had."  
  
Oh no.   
  
Sam couldn't help the way his eyes bugged a little because no. He was not giving sex advice to Bucky Barnes. He refused. No matter how bad a day everyone had had.   
  
"Afterwards, Strange said something about Steve's 'repressed' feelings for me?"  
  
A mild kind of relief bloomed in Sam's chest because okay, maybe it wasn't code red after all. Maybe still an awkward subject, but not one that involved hundred year old super soldier dicks. "Yeah," Sam said to show he was listening.  
  
"What...what feelings did he mean?"  
  
Sam stared at Bucky, which was Bucky's least favorite response to get out of people. So he glared back and got defensive.   
  
"I just mean-" Bucky started heatedly but then stopped himself. Then he sighed, like he was annoyed with everything and why shouldn't he be? If anyone got a pass to be annoyed at the world, it was Bucky Barnes. Then he dropped his elbows hard into the table and leaned into them. "He said he was killing me in his dream and-Does Steve hate me?"   
  
Again, Sam stared. Bucky had said it like he was angry about it and afraid to know all at once. Only, Sam had no idea how Bucky had come to that conclusion. Like, even remotely. Steve had spent six months straight searching for him. Made concessions for Bucky that he made for no one else. He had endless patience when it came to his brainwashed old friend discovering that it was okay to ask questions and so asking half a million in one day about everything from "How does our DNA know how to always make people look like people?" to "How does a dishwasher work?"  
  
"You can tell me the truth," Bucky added at Sam's silence. "I can handle it."  
  
Sam laughed and shook his head. "Look, maybe that's a subject you should ask _Steve_ about _._ "  
  
Bucky blew out a breath and looked off at the bird feeder. "But maybe he won't tell me the truth. Clint says people pretend to like each other all the time just to keep things moving smoothly." Sam remembered that lesson. It was back when Bucky was still a little foggy on the whole "lying to people" thing. So when he didn't like someone, he expressed the sentiment point blank, much to the chagrin of many a journalist at a press conference with a dickish question. He'd straight up lean to the mic and say in a low voice with narrowed eyes, "I don't like you," and that was it. Sam found it refreshing. Maybe he was a little satisfied with the fact that he'd never received one of those "I don't like you"s. To be fair, no one on the team ever had. But still.  
  
"Steve wouldn't pull that on you," Sam assured him. "Swear it."  
  
Bucky studied his face, as if he were any good at reading people. "Okay. I believe you."  
  
"Good."  
  
"I don't want Steve to hate me," Bucky admitted to his hands and the table. "I think about what it would be like if everybody here hated me, sometimes. And I don't like it, I mean. But if Steve hated me-I feel like that one would suck the most."  
  
Sam sighed. "Man, why're you spending any of your time imagining us hating you?"  
  
He shrugged. "Just to be ready, I guess. In case."  
  
"Well quit it," Sam said. "You don't need to practice something like that. It's not healthy. Nobody here hates you, even if you're annoying sometimes."  
  
Bucky didn't look up, intensely focused on the table instead.  
  
The next few minutes passed in silence except for the chickadees and sparrows chattering at the feeder. Sam watched the fluffy little balls of feathers bounce around, trying to find their favorite seed or nut in the mix. It was peaceful and nice and exactly his idea of relaxing. Just the peaceful sounds of something natural and no immediate concerns.   
  
So of course, _something_ had to interrupt it. "Hey Sam?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You guys would look out for Steve no matter what, right?" Bucky asked.   
  
Sam shrugged. "Yeah, of course. We all look out for each other. That's the point of a team."  
  
Bucky looked satisfied with the answer. But also resigned, in some weird way that Sam couldn't quite interpret. It made him nervous and he didn't know why. So he asked, "Why do you ask?"  
  
Then, Bucky looked caught, eyes darting away, looking for a distraction. Anything to avoid Sam's face. "Just wondered, that's all," he muttered and his cheeks got red and Sam knew he was lying but he couldn't figure out what for. But before he could press further, Bucky got up and left. And maybe it was better anyway, that Sam didn't force the issue. Like Strange had said, they all needed time to unwind. But he couldn't help turning Bucky's question over and over in his head, feeling like he'd missed some important angle.   
  


* * *

  
"Alright, so this is what we dug up," Tony said, setting his phone on the table. Immediately, a projection was emitted from the screen, an infocard. There was an old black and white photo of a guy with a long, drawn face and thinning hair. The card named him Doctor Joseph Pohlmann. "Doc Pohlmann. Worked with the Nazis until he was enlisted with Hydra instead. Thankfully he wasn't drafted to America,so it's one less thing our already weighted consciences have to deal with."  
  
"He lived to be 124 years old," Natasha put in. She tapped at something on the card and dragged down, revealing something written in German. "And he died due to an accident, not natural causes."  
  
Strange narrowed his eyes at the holograph. "What kind of experimenting did he do, exactly?"  
  
Tony took over. "He was heavily into robotics and, paradoxically enough, the occult." Here he nodded to Steve. "He allegedly collaborated with Zola on Barnes' arm and how to integrate it into his nervous system."  
  
Steve nodded to show he was listening and not daydreaming about all the ways he could've killed this guy if he'd been given the chance. "I want to try to focus on one atrocity at a time," Steve said. "The occult stuff. What's that mean exactly?"  
  
Natasha swiped at the card. There were weird symbols and images attached to another document in German. "He was particularly interested in alchemy and demonic possessions. He treated it all clinically, like ritual human sacrifice was an experiment that he could study."  
  
"If he could just tweak the variables-you know, the right quantity of virgin's blood and eyes of newt and all that-he'd get what he was after," Tony added, just to make sure everyone knew how stupid he thought this was. And it was.   
  
Strange held up a hand before Natasha could flick through another screen. He stepped closer, inspecting some kind of sigil on the infocard. "He wasn't just interested in any demon," Strange muttered. "He wanted to pull out the big guns. The worst things on offer."  
  
Steve drew a hand over his face. Sam probably wasn't imagining how tired he looked, even after his nap. "Was there anything about what he did to Bucky?"  
  
Here Tony looked away in a calculated gesture made to look totally uncalculated. It was no secret he already struggled with Bucky's presence. There'd been explosive arguments between Tony and Steve when Bucky was brought back. Things that nearly required physical interventions from team mates. The two had managed a tense understanding, aided in part by Bucky's utterly bizarre behavior. It made what Hydra did to him a lot less abstract for Tony. So he straddled this awkward line where he wanted to hate Bucky for what he'd done to his parents and to pity him for what'd been done to him.   
  
So Natasha stepped in to supply the response instead. "Yes. Like Tony said, Pohlmann kind of thought of himself as a scientist studying an underdeveloped field. So he kept procedural notes and documented his results." She made a crumpling motion with her hand to get rid of the biographical information. Then she drew up a kind of familiar sight-the scans of the Winter Soldier file. She scrolled through quick until she landed on what she was after. "Pohlmann got the idea to use James in one of his occult experiments in 1956. He'd never had the opportunity to test someone with enhanced biology before and theorized that the more durable the physical form, the more powerful occult agents could be bound to it."  
  
Those were words that they were really listening to right now and they weren't from some B movie on cable TV for the holiday.   
  
"He'd be correct," Strange admitted. He didn't hide his disgust with the dead doctor. "Demonic possessions are just as much physical as they are spiritual. It's like a disease. The average person can only handle so much before it starts to degrade them physically. Its why the worst possessions tend to be over and done with fairly quickly, if there isn't any intervention."  
  
"But people like us?" Steve asked.   
  
"You recover. Obviously it's not enough to get rid of the source of your affliction. You might tire but you won't die from it alone. It just turns into a vicious cycle until the demon gets what it wants."  
  
"So what do we do?"   
  
Strange looked to Natasha and Tony. "Is there anything in there about the procedure itself? Not just the theory but the actual possession?"  
  
Tony shook his head. "No. Just a lot of redactions."  
  
Strange blew out a sigh. "Nothing's easy with you people," he said under his breath. "Okay. They obviously didn't want anyone to be able to undo this. Is there any chance Barnes remembers the event himself?"  
  
Here the room was quiet but directing curious glances towards Steve, who studied his clasped hands in his lap. They all knew Bucky remembered things here and there. But Steve would know best about the specifics. He looked up at them before saying, "We saw what happened back there in the cell when Rumlow mentioned Pohlmann."

"Whatever is possessing him knows we're on the right track," Strange responded. "It'll do what it can to derail us."  
  
"I could really do without train metaphors," Steve muttered, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He looked at Strange. "What I'm saying is...if we're going to interrogate him about a memory this awful, is there a way to make him not remember that-" Then he clamped his jaw shut. Sam thought he even heard his teeth click when he did it. The expression on his face was briefly startled but there was no obvious external reason for it, which lead Sam to think Steve had suddenly realized something. The mirthless laugh that followed confirmed that before Steve said, "Jesus, I'm no better than them."  
  
Natasha was on it quicker than Sam. "It's natural to want to protect someone you care about from things that are painful to them."  
  
"We shouldn't even be talking about him like he isn't here to speak for himself," Steve snapped suddenly. Sam knew the guy had his worries about how to handle Bucky sometimes. It was a fine line to walk, after all. There were concerns that he was just conditioning Bucky to be what Steve remembered him as instead of who he actually was now. That he gave Bucky some standard to measure himself against. And in the earlier days, when Bucky still wasn't so sure about that whole autonomy thing, Steve agonized over whether he was too controlling in his efforts to help him adapt to life outside of Hydra's stranglehold. But this wasn't the same at all.   
  
"You mentioned what happened in the cell," Tony said with a shrug. "I think it makes sense to get what facts we can without triggering uh, whatever the hell that was down there."  
  
"I think-" came a timid voice from behind them. They all turned to find Wanda there, trying not to appear overwhelmed by the sudden attention. She squared her shoulders as she stepped from the threshold of the cracked door and into the room. "I think I can help."  
  
"You all are a nosy bunch," Strange said, crossing his arms. Steve had specifically left Wanda out of this to avoid pressuring her into helping. But Wanda seemed to not want to be boxed out, given her apparent eavesdropping on them.  
  
"I don't know why you think I'm too fragile to help with this," Wanda said to Steve. "That because it already targeted me means I should back out of the fight instead of participating. After all, I have it on very good authority that that's _not_ what Captain America would do."  
  
Sam cocked an eyebrow and nodded his approval to Wanda. Steve had a serious case of 'it's not the same when _I_ throw _myself_ into violent situations' so Sam liked whenever someone shoved that back at him to justify their own actions.   
  
"It isn't about you being fragile," Steve said. "I just don't want anybody getting hurt if we can help it."  
  
Tony made a bark of sarcastic laughter. "I think we're beyond that at this point. Gandalf there says this is getting worse, right? Maybe we could use whatever help anyone's willing to offer."  
  
"It really chaps your ass that there are things you can't explain in numbers, doesn't it?" Strange asked, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Maybe it chaps yours that I could, if I bothered to make the effort," Tony responded with a shrug.  
  
"Did a birthday party magician hurt you as a child or what?" Sam asked because he had no idea how Tony could live through what they just had and still take snipes at the whole magic and sorcery thing Strange had going on.   
  
"Nothing like a dick measuring contest in the middle of an exorcism," Natasha muttered, rubbing her temples.   
  
"The room could use a little less testosterone," Wanda agreed, crossing her arms. "You see why I offer my help?"  
  
"I'm with Wanda," Tony said, pointing to the woman in question. "If she can help, we let her. We're a team right?"  
  
"Okay," Steve conceded finally. He looked at her, completely serious when he spoke. "You can withdraw your offer at any time, you know. Don't feel pressured to do this."  
  
"I wouldn't offer if I didn't think I could handle it," she said.   
  
"This isn't your typical fight," Strange warned. He gestured at the pages of the file still being projected from the table. "You're strong. I can tell that. But strength means nothing if you aren't prepared up here." He tapped his temple with a finger.   
  
Wanda nodded her understanding. "We are very used to the atypical here, Doctor Strange."

"I suppose we'll see," he said, heading for the door.  
  
Sam had to roll his eyes and smack his lips loudly at the melodrama as he trailed after Strange down the hall. "You remember the dude we called you about threw up a spider and we just rolled with it, right? He named her Charlotte even though any ten year old could tell you tarantulas don't build webs."  
  
"Don't remind me about that thing," Tony griped, pulling a hand over his face. "It's creepy. Have you seen it _move?_ "  
  
Sam turned his best expression of disbelief over at him. "Man I was there when he puked it up! Don't talk to me about creepy!"   
  
"He isn't keeping that thing, you know," Tony said, whirling around to face Steve as if he'd suddenly remembered. Steve sighed and closed his eyes for a second but didn't argue back because really, who _wants_ a giant ass spider in their home?  
  
Sam was ashamed to admit that it was him who reacted first. It was just, he was in high stress mode, and he hadn't been expecting anybody to be on the damn ceiling. He jerked back when he noticed but managed to keep in a curse. Even though it was totally messed up, he understood Peter being perched up there with an utterly puzzled and concerned expression. But he hadn't been expecting Bucky, too.  
  
"Jesus," Steve muttered almost angrily, like Bucky had chosen to go up there just to get a rise out of him.  
  
"This just gets better every day," Tony said, barely sparing Bucky a glance as he headed straight for the kitchen and, presumably, a stiff drink.  
  
"Mr. Rogers, sir," Peter sputtered immediately. "I don't know how this happened but he won't budge and I thought-"  
  
"I wouldn't worry too hard," Tony said, waving a hand. And why not? After the horror show in the cell, Bucky being stuck to the ceiling wasn't so bad. Clint seemed to have no problem with it, legs crossed and heels up on the coffee table as he flipped through the channels from the couch.  
  
"I'm actually okay with this," Bucky said. He had his feet planted on the ceiling and his arms crossed to rest behind his head. He looked like a sunbather on the beach. He glanced down at Clint and said, "Hey can you toss me a beer?"  
  
"Giddy up," Clint said, never taking his eyes off the screen as he tossed one of the unopened bottles up at the ceiling. Bucky snatched it with his right hand before transferring it to the left and popping the cap off with his metal thumb. Sam counted in his head down from five when Bucky tipped the bottle back to drink from it. He didn't make it to zero before Bucky started sputtering and coughing because gravity didn't care for his shit right now.  
  
Steve stared before finally shaking his head. "That can't be safe."  
  
"It's like, ten feet off the ground. If I fall, so what?" Bucky tried to shift around onto his side.  
  
"Why is this happening?" Peter asked before dropping down to the right side of the world with the rest of them.  
  
"If I've learned anything so far about this whole demon thing, the answer is a resounding 'just to fuck with us'." Sam glanced at Strange and raised his eyebrows. "Am I wrong?"  
  
"That's one possibility," Strange responded with a reluctant nod. "It'll do things like this because it's stressful. Or to deal with a flight risk."  
  
"Stressful," Bucky echoed. "This is actually pretty peaceful. So I think I win this round." He wriggled again, still trying to roll on his side but it apparently wasn't happening. "You know-actually, could you toss me a pillow?"  
  
"I'm not tossing you a damn pillow," Steve said like Bucky had asked him something particularly stupid. Instead he stepped up on the couch. "Give me your arm, I'll pull you down."  
  
"I don't recommend that," Strange said quickly.  
  
Steve already had one foot on the back of the couch but hesitated before pushing up further. "Why?"  
  
"That kind of binding work isn't something you can physically overpower. You could pull his arm right out of his socket." Strange coughed. "Um, again, apparently."  
  
Steve looked back up at Bucky, who looked smug, as if he'd won an argument. Sam wasn't sure how fucked your brain had to be to reach that conclusion in this type of scenario but was past thinking Bucky's was anything but. Steve snorted at him. "I hope you hit your balls on the way down."  
  
Bucky's heels smacked into the ceiling. "I would never wish that on you!"   
  
Steve responded by throwing one of the pillows at Bucky's face. "Enjoy the peace and quiet."  
  
At about 1:32 AM that night, Sam was just drifting off to sleep when he was startled into alertness by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor in the common room. At first his heart skipped a beat until he heard a shout of, "Ah God-!" from Bucky, soon followed by a loud and obnoxious, _"Ha!_ " from Steve.   
  
Instead he smiled, curled tighter under his blankets, and thought, even if tomorrow wasn't a good day, tonight would be.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see end notes for spoilers regarding new tags if necessary. I know this is mostly a humor fic but it is also a horror fic and this chapter is much heavier on the horror and angst than the laughs.

It wasn't until the next day at breakfast that Steve and Wanda discussed their plans with Bucky. Steve looked like shit, the clear product of another sleepless night and Sam felt almost guilty about sleeping so easily while his friend suffered like that. Steve dismissed any concerns with a wave of his hand and a simple "Just crappy dreams, it's fine." He'd gone through what had to be a deadly amount of coffee for a normal human being. Even Clint made a comment about it. But in spite of it, Steve never looked amped up on anything, so they had to figure his metabolism was crushing it easily enough.  
  
Bucky reluctantly agreed to their plan, having Wanda swear that she wouldn't change anything in his head. She solemnly promised and Sam had no doubts about it. She still felt plenty of regret over her past actions with her powers. There was no way she was going to misuse them now. If she could help it, at least.  
  
Strange didn't show up again until a little after lunch, giving Wanda and Bucky time to prepare themselves for the weird shit the day was going to hold for them. In spite of repeated requests that he knock it off with the 'appearing out of nowhere' thing, Strange still did it. Like this time they were alerted to his presence by the fridge door falling closed. He had a glass of orange juice in his hands, which looked kind of funny combined with his wizard get-up and Sam wondered why that was. Wizards had to get their Vitamin C too, right?   
  
"One of us is going to seriously injure you one day, and it's totally going to be your fault," Tony said.   
  
"I told you, I'm a busy guy. I can't stay here every hour of my life babysitting all of you," Strange responded. He took a sip of the juice, then immediately wrinkled his nose. "Pulp? You people are animals."  
  
"Let's get this started," Steve said. He'd been jonesing all day to do something, and Sam was sure the nine billion gallons of coffee hadn't helped his anxiety.   
  
Strange drained his glass despite the apparently offensive pulp and set it in the sink. Without rinsing. So who was the real animal here? "Okay. You've discussed this completely with all the relevant parties?"  
  
"Nah we figured we'd just make it a surprise," Sam answered because did the guy really think so little of their planning skills? "I mean surprise seances are totally a thing right?" Here he threw a look at Steve but he wasn't in the mood for jokes, apparently. Sam guessed he could easily see why.  
  
"We did," Steve said, practically snapping with impatience.   
  
"Then let's go," Strange said, as if _they_ were the ones holding him up.   
  
Sam kind of expected weird ritualistic shit. A pentagram on the floor. Candles. Latin chants. Stuff like that. But maybe that had been a little silly on his part, since he'd seen Wanda use her powers before and she just kind of did it on the spot. Natasha was there to make Bucky feel better so Clint tagged along as a matter of course. Sam felt compelled to stick around too, just in case anything happened. Like maybe Wanda would accidentally make Bucky squawk like a chicken or something and he couldn't miss that. And Tony, who definitely didn't want to admit to any interest in this whole process, watched from the kitchen with a very practiced nonchalance.  
  
"You can just lay here," Wanda said to Bucky, who was plainly nervous about the whole ordeal. Which Sam wanted to make some jabs about because he hadn't looked nervous about _any_ of the demon-related shit. But he kept quiet, unwilling to make this take any longer than it had to. Steve might pop off on him if he did.  
  
Bucky did as Wanda asked, laying on the floor and looking at the ceiling. "You really won't erase anything, right?" he asked one last time.   
  
"I swear it on my brother's grave," she promised. That was about as serious of a swear as you could get from her, so Bucky accepted it. "Are you ready?"  
  
"Ready as I can be, I guess," Bucky mumbled.   
  
"I'm going to put you to sleep now," she said. He nodded his consent and she touched a few fingers to his temple. He was out immediately, tension melting from his body and the plates in his left arm recalibrated before he was completely still again. Sam wondered if she would offer her services for other sleepless individuals among them.   
  
"Okay," Wanda whispered to herself before she held a hand to either side of Bucky's head. Her eyes took on that red hazy glow. She gasped but he didn't even twitch, still totally unconscious even as wispy red light meandered from her fingers to his temples.  
  
"Are you okay?" Steve asked immediately, lifting a hand before dropping it again.   
  
Wanda's brows drew together. She swallowed, then nodded. "Yes. Just-I was a little unprepared. It's not-It's-" Finally she sighed. "Messy."  
  
"That's no surprise. Look at his damn room," Sam muttered. Really he just wanted to lighten the mood any way he could. He couldn't shake the feeling that something about this wasn't going to turn out the way they thought it would. Sam wasn't sure if that was paranoia or intuition. Being a soldier made it difficult to separate the two sometimes.  
  
"Nothing is linear about it," she clarified. He had no idea how she concentrated on both speaking and reading minds at once. "Things that happened yesterday are right alongside things that happened eighty years ago. This may take some time."  
  
"Instead of looking at his memories like a timeline, try to focus on a key figure. Project an image of Pohlmann in his mind and seize whatever regions of the brain light up," Strange advised. Tony paced anxiously in the kitchen, stopping every few seconds to check in on the admittedly weird scene. They looked like kids playing some creepy game at a sleepover.   
  
Wanda started muttering under her breath, "Cold always cold. My arm. Steve, help. Pain. Burnt copper. Ma Becca someone-Drills, saws. Pain, pain...Blood-"  
  
Then things got weird.

Sam wasn't watching from the outside anymore. He was kneeling on a cold, cement floor with his wrists bound behind his back. Something whirred noisily and he realized it was coming from his left arm. His metal arm. He was Bucky, even if he didn't know how or when or why, and immediately, panic spiked through him but his body refused to react. There were voices. Someone stood in front of him. He kind of expected robes and dungeons and dragons type shit but when he looked up-  
  
He wanted to scream, but nothing came out. He was just a passenger now, not the driver. That made it all the more horrifying, being helpless to do anything.   
  
There was something that maybe had been a man once. His skin was taught over a thin frame. His skull was all sharp angles save for the curve of his hairless, bald head. Something mechanical was pulled over his eyes and Sam's gaze was met with the gleaming dark lenses of a pair of goggles. Then there were the teeth. The man had no lips to speak of, and not just in a thin, old guy kind of way. Sam could count every one of the guy's teeth, eternally bared in an awful grimace. Sinewy arms ended at the elbows, both forearms replaced by something robotic. They weren't like Bucky's arm, something more primitive and bare instead. Skeletal, almost. One of the four mechanical forearms ended in a very sharp blade.

Sam wanted to ask what that one was for, but he couldn't make anything work. Then the guy put one of his claw-like metal fingers under Sam's chin and tilted his head up and he had a pretty good idea of what it was there for. "You may experience discomfort," the man gnashed out through those awful white teeth. "But good behavior will not go unrewarded." Panic gripped him but he refused to move. The body, Bucky, refused to move, even as adrenaline coursed wildly and something inside of him screamed frantically for help, that he didn't want to be good if this is what he had to do. The knife came down and it happened so fast he could hardly register it. Blood spilled warmly over his neck, his chest, his stomach. It spurted out of his throat in time with his heartbeat and he gasped futilely for air.

He couldn't help it when he fell to his side. Someone was speaking over him, he thought, but he could only hear his pulse pounding angrily in his ears. His own ragged gasps for breath. Blood spilling back down his throat and into his lungs. World going fuzzy at the edges and he was dying. Sam wanted to shake and scream and beg as it hit him, but somehow that wasn't what Bucky had felt at all. He felt relief. It was over. There'd be no more missions, no more electricity, no more operations or tests. No more pain. Wasn't that just a wonderful thought?

Then came the screams and another shock of adrenaline was dumped into his thinning bloodstream, jolting him back into awareness. Tangled hair damp with sweat clung to his face and his eyes rolled around the room for the source of the noise. When was the last time he felt so weak? Why was this happening to him? He felt empty, completely void of anything and it ached. He'd had things, once. A life. A home. A family. A friend. So many things, and they were all torn away and why? Had he done something wrong? Why couldn't he remember? He was shredded and mutilated and turned into a monster and now that ugly blood was spilling out everywhere onto the floor and it was for the best. Ending all of it, the suffering and the killing and the horror and all of that pain.

The screaming intensified, inhuman, shrieking, thousands of voices at once, deafening. There was a heat, noxious and unbearable. Could he even breathe anymore? Did he want to? He watched as something reached out of the pool of his blood. Pulling itself to the surface. Standing over him. He couldn't make it out. Something touched him. And another. Another. So many he lost count. And then-

Whispers. A cool breath on his face.   
  
Panic gripped him anew. He wasn't dying. Why wasn't he dying? Why couldn't he just die? Why wouldn't they kill him?! Why did he have to get back up again?! To hurt again and again and-

Sam gasped himself awake. Or back to reality. Whatever it was, he felt like he could breath again and he seized on that. Someone's hand was on his shoulder. He jerked back. "You're okay. You're safe." It was Strange. Sam had to process that. Count backwards from five. Name one thing you see around you as you do. Black couch. Green plant-

"What the fuck was that?" he whispered, unable to muster much else. His hands were shaking and his limbs felt light and airy. If he didn't ground himself to something he was just going to float away.

"Something went wrong with Wanda's search and she ended up projecting Barnes' memories instead," Strange explained quickly. "Help me check the others."

Sam looked around. So it wasn't just him this had happened to. Wanda sat with her back pressed against the wall, hands covering her mouth. There were tears in her eyes. Natasha sat dazed on the couch, staring into nothing. Clint was curled in a ball at her feet. Someone was gasping in the kitchen. Tony, at the sink, bent over and trying to get through a panic attack.

Sam forced himself to move. He shuffled over to Clint and tried speaking first. "Hey, man, you awake? Are you okay?" he asked and he hated the way his voice shook. But Clint didn't seem to notice, giving no response. Sam glanced over at Strange, who had a hand on Steve's shoulder. He tried the same. Maybe the contact was more grounding than off-putting. "Clint? You going to wake up?"

Suddenly, Bucky sat up like a corpse from a grave. Sam froze, and he felt like he was back there, in that lab, death looming but never making its move. He held his breath, keeping his eyes on Bucky, who sat unnaturally still. That sense of helplessness and despair was back. In his mind's eye he was up in the dry desert air watching his best friend drop like a stone out of the sky and his chest tightened. They weren't safe. Maybe they didn't _deserve_ to be safe. They just needed to accept that.

Bucky crawled on all fours towards Steve. Steve shook his head, tried to work his lips, but he was still reeling, still too stunned to speak. "Steve." It was Bucky's voice. But somehow, Sam felt like it wasn't. It sounded like him, yeah. But just looking at him, the way he crawled across the floor like he wasn't quite used to his own limbs, it just wasn't-

"Shit," Strange hissed from his place beside Wanda.

"Stop," Steve managed finally, but his voice shook when he spoke.

He didn't. Instead, Bucky grabbed him by the hair and pulled himself into Steve's lap.

"Stop it!" Steve snapped, getting Bucky down onto his back. He hit the floor hard enough to make Sam flinch.

Strange left Wanda and started up one of his chants. Bucky groaned, a sound that was somewhere between pained and orgasmic. Sam cringed almost reflexively. Bucky jerked and writhed like he was trying to get away from something. "Are you going to hurt me?" Bucky asked in a pathetic, frightened voice. Then he whined like a frightened dog. "Don't hurt me, Steve, please, not like you let them-"

"That's enough!" Steve yelled, and it wasn't the kind of shouting he did in the heat of a battle. Sam hadn't ever heard him so upset before. It wasn't just anger in his voice, but fear, and shame. He was trying to bury them under the anger but Sam could still hear it in the way his voice cracked, the way his cheeks flushed.

"I don't want you to hurt me-"

Sam saw Steve ball up his fist and pull it back. Bucky arched his back and wrapped his legs around Steve's waist. He bared his throat and moaned again. Steve clenched his fist before dropping it, teeth grinding together. He tried to pry Bucky's legs off of him and failed.

"You _left_ me, Steve," Bucky muttered, and his voice was changing but it was hard for Sam to make it out. He was panting and Sam couldn't tell if it was part of the act or a result of whatever incantations Strange was throwing out, trying to dislodge the demon's hold on him. "Left me, and for what?" Steve stared in horror and he apparently recognized that prim, British woman's voice from somewhere. Sam racked his brain trying to figure it out, knowing he knew this. But it was a little more than difficult to focus in a situation as surreal as this. From behind him, in the kitchen, he heard Tony mutter something in a devastated tone but couldn't make it out. "Pervert. Disgusting creature." Bucky snagged Steve by the hair, wrenching his head around from side to side. Steve scrabbled at Bucky's wrists. "You don't want something you can't _bully,_ now do you? An abused little animal you can manipulate and-"  
  
Steve reacted harshly, a hand to the side of Bucky's face shoving him back down to the ground. Bucky laughed and it was a very unnatural, maniacal kind of sound. "Shut up!" Steve shouted.   
  
"Do you want to fuck me, Steve?" Bucky screamed at him, laughing wildly as he said it, like it was the best joke he'd ever heard. "You fucking faggot!" Then suddenly, his arm dropped hard, as if yanked back. Then his legs fell from around Steve's waist. He twisted slightly, back and neck arching as he looked, upside down, for whoever had done it. Sam caught the wisps of red light. Wanda approached, standing next to Strange, her fingers dancing in the air. There were still tears in her eyes but her expression was determined. "Let him go," she said.

Bucky bared his teeth at her, some awful, animal growl escaping.

"Let him-" Wanda tried again.

Bucky cut her off with a scream. "You fucking bitch, I'll gut you in your fucking sleep!"

Wanda, to her credit, didn't flinch. Strange let his arms fall back, watching Wanda carefully as she flared her fingers. Bucky screamed, writhing in her bonds. That red mist flushed out from his eyes and ears and mouth in a brief burst. "I can feel you, in there," Wanda said, voice shaking with the effort. Her brows twitched together. "Like a cancer."

"I see him _burning_ , Wanda, he's burning-!" Bucky babbled, head shaking from side to side. Wanda faltered, and Bucky-or the thing controlling him-pounced. "Burning in hell, sold his soul, just like you did-"

"Ignore it," Strange spat quickly. "You can do this, Wanda. It's not telling the truth."

Bucky cried out in Sokovian and once again, he didn't sound like Bucky. If Sam had to guess, that was her brother's voice. "Wanda! Please! Help me!"

Wanda's hand flew back to her mouth, and Bucky was free, immediately rolling to his stomach and pushing himself to his feet, ready for a fight.

"Don't let it manipulate you," Strange said. "Don't let it use your brother against you like this."

She gritted her teeth, threw out her hand, and Bucky flew. Strange's eyes went a little wide but he stayed put. Sam wasn't sure what to make of the expression. Wasn't sure if he should be more concerned, if that was possible. Steve looked back to where Bucky had landed like a discarded toy against the wall but he didn't move just yet. "Let that be the last mistake you ever make, you miserable creature," Wanda hissed as she moved closer.   
  
Bucky rolled onto his side. "You know all about mistakes," he said. "Hydra's little whore!" He started to push himself up to his feet but collapsed suddenly, like someone had dropped on top of him. Wanda's hands strained, tendons standing out.   
  
"Let go!" she screamed.   
  
Bucky laughed instead.   
  
Wanda squeezed her hands into fists and Bucky choked. Steve started but Strange stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. Then, Bucky jerked away like if he could just push himself close enough to the wall he could disappear through it. Bucky curled in on himself as best as he could, eyes screwed shut and Wanda gasped. She broke her hold and demanded instantly, "Are you alright?"  
  
Bucky sucked in a rattling breath but nodded. He didn't move at first. His eyes darted to Steve for a fraction of a second before he looked back at the floor, ashamed. He tried to look at the rest of them. Undoubtedly they looked exhausted, or terrified, or upset in some way or another. And Bucky wasn't one for deluding himself, so he'd know and feel very sharply what had put those expressions on their faces. There was no joke this time, nothing to brush it all off and distract anyone with. Not after what they'd just witnessed. They all looked like they were on the highest alert, having just experienced the horror of dying and then not. He seemed ready to give up, to sink into nothing and let it take him.   
  
"I'm so sorry," Wanda said quickly. Her eyes were glazed still with the threat of tears and Sam didn't blame her. They could all probably stand to cry for the next twenty-four hours straight. "I could have killed you." The words came out in a rush, like she just realized it herself. 

"Maybe it wouldn't have been the worst way to end this," Bucky admitted to the air.

Steve stared for a minute before speaking in a low, severe voice Sam hadn't ever heard out of him before. Which was saying something scary because he'd seen Captain America all kinds of pissed off. "What are you saying?"

"I mean..." Bucky shrugged but carefully avoided looking at Steve. "To stop it, maybe-" Suddenly Sam remembered what Strange had said when Bucky was stuck to the ceiling. That the demon might do it to cause chaos, or to deal with a flight risk. At the time, Sam thought he meant what he said. That the thing wanted to keep Bucky from running. But he _couldn't_ run from this. No, it'd been a polite way of saying to keep the host from committing suicide. And then Bucky's question about them watching out for Steve popped back into the forefront of his mind and Sam felt oblivious for not putting it all together faster. "That would fix this. Definitely."

There was the sharp and sudden noise of skin meeting skin and Sam started forward like he was actually going to take Steve by the arm and stop him. But who was he kidding? Natasha snapped his name in the most ferocious tone Sam had ever heard out of her. Wanda flinched back, like she'd made it happen. Bucky just stared at the space between his feet, unwilling to rub the reddening skin of his cheek where Steve smacked him. Steve pointed at him and he said, "You've got another thing coming if you think I've done everything I have for you just to let you kill yourself. Do you understand that?"

"Steve, man-" Sam tried because the study of mental health had come a long way since Steve's day. Maybe he knew that, maybe not. But maybe it wasn't exactly a rational reaction. They were all keyed up, pressed to breaking points, and Steve hearing Bucky express what he just had was like the final straw. So Steve just reacted. Poorly, yeah, but none of them were at their best after what had just happened.

Steve relented at the sound of Sam's voice, lips pressed together in a line.

"Yeah, I forgot, only Captain America gets the honor of martyring himself," Bucky muttered back and Sam knew he had a lot on his mind. He had plenty to be frustrated about. But did he really have to do this now when Steve was about ready to put his ass through a wall?

"What do you want me to do, Bucky?" Steve snapped back, at least restrained enough to keep a healthier distance this time. "Pat you on the back and hand you a revolver? Tell you that you deserve it? Well you don't! If you'd stop and listen for even a minute-!"

"I'm fucking tired Steve!" Bucky shouted back. Hearing the two argue with each other was nothing new. But it'd never been this tense before. They were supposed to argue about whether coffee was gross or not, who understood computers better, if older music was categorically better than newer music. Not whether one had the right to kill himself or not. "You don't get it, because you've always wanted the fight! Well I never did but it sure as shit wanted me!" Bucky was obviously struggling to keep himself some form of composed. His eyes were watering but he never outright sobbed. Sam suddenly felt like shit for every stupid petty snipe he'd taken at the guy. Bucky managed to get ahold of himself, and his tone was a lot less frantic as he said, "It's not going to stop. And I'm tired." With one last glance at everybody staring at him, he left the room.

Sam locked eyes with Natasha and she nodded minutely, already trailing after him. Steve started to go with her, but Sam said, "Hey, Steve, hang on."

Steve raised an eyebrow and froze in place but said nothing. He looked kind of like  _he_ was the one ready to die here and Sam wasn't sure he could take that right now and he just needed to get  _out_ of this fucking room. "Why don't we go out somewhere? Get some fresh air," he suggested, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"After what he just said, I don't think I should go," Steve said.

"Nat's with him. It'll be okay, man," Sam said. He looked back at Clint, who was doing damage control with Wanda. She would undoubtedly feel responsible for all of this. She and Steve got along so well for a reason. Clint nodded his agreement to Sam's statement.

"Could do you some good to get away from this," Tony added quietly. He looked as shaken up as Sam felt. And Sam got the sense he didn't like feeling useless, but also that he had zero experience dealing with someone who'd just expressed a death wish, other than maybe himself. Especially when that someone was a person he'd expressed a desire to kill at one point. To be fair, it wasn't a situation most people ever needed to consider handling.  
  
Steve was grinding his teeth like he wanted to scream at them all to fuck off and let him go to Bucky. But that meant there was still too much pent up rage in there for that to be a good decision on their part. Strange looked at Steve and said point blank, "Blow off some steam. It thrives on chaos and negative emotions. Don't let it have what it wants."  
  
"Come on," Tony said, heading outside.   
  
Steve relented with a breath. But he followed Sam and Tony, so that was a good sign. They needed as many of those as they could get right now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone experiences being the victim of a ritualistic killing first hand, written with a degree of detail. Bucky, while under the demon's thrall, makes unwanted physical contact with Steve, verbally humiliates him, and uses a slur against him. Bucky also uses a gendered slur at Wanda(which for the record, the author does not believe Wanda was trading sexual favors with anyone in Hydra, demons are just jerks who say mean things). Bucky, of his own volition, expresses a desire to kill himself. He and Steve get in an argument and Steve slaps him in the face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter more heavy on angst/horror than humor. See the end spoiler for specifics regarding warnings.

It was chilly outside, what with fall setting in and everything. A breeze rustled the dying leaves and had them raining down out in the woods. They kept fairly close to the living quarters, just in case. No one said anything and it felt awkward and tense because Steve clearly would've preferred to be with Bucky right now, even if it was just to yell at him some more and Tony clearly would've preferred to be anywhere else but it also hurt him to see Steve hurt so he stuck it out. And Sam? Sam would've preferred a beach somewhere. White sand, clear blue water, beautiful lady to share some fruity-ass drinks with, dolphins jumping out at sea.  
  
Tony had taken in a breath like he was about to say something, but whatever it was never came out because Steve suddenly exploded, "How could he be so stupid! He got this far and he just wants to give up? Nearly a hundred years and this is when he tries to throw in the towel?"  
  
Sam was going to wait and let Steve get it all out because when people were this pissed, sometimes they said things they didn't mean, or they had things they did mean but those things got warped by anger into other things. But Tony wasn't one for awkward silences and he said, "You really think this is the first time he's tried to end it?"  
  
Sam sighed heavily to show Tony he totally disapproved of that statement. Steve screwed his eyes shut like he was in physical pain.  
  
"I just mean-I don't know if we all had the same, uh, vision or whatever? But it really felt like he was very ready to die," Tony said.  
  
When Steve opened his eyes again, they were watering and pointed skyward like he could keep them from noticing. Or maybe like gravity would shove the tears back into his head and spare him the embarrassment of having a wide spectrum of feelings, like some kind of human being.  
  
So even though Sam thought a part of Steve knew none of them would think any less of him for it, he said, "It's okay, man." And Steve ground his teeth together, trying still so hard to refuse. It wasn't the first time Sam saw guys act like that and it wouldn't be the last. Society had them all fucked up that way, trying to tell them it wasn't right to feel things so deeply unless they resulted in aggression. He'd done his best to unlearn that kind of unhealthy mindset but it wasn't easy and he still worked at it. Sam had to imagine that kind of thing was ingrained even deeper in Steve, given the era he grew up in. Maybe Bucky would've been that way too, if not for having so much of himself erased by Hydra. He knew next to nothing about the outside world at large, so when he was allowed to be whoever he wanted, he did what came naturally. No baggage about what expectations society had for how men should behave and express their feelings. Sam thought it was probably the one good thing about his situation, and not just because it left Bucky with plenty of questions about society that Sam could give very good answers to.  
  
"None'a this is okay," Steve said quickly, that Brooklyn accent creeping in just enough to let Sam know he was close to a breaking point.  
  
"It will be," Sam said, whether it would be or not because it didn't do Steve any good to tell him otherwise right now. If things went south, the grieving could happen then. But now, Bucky needed Steve at his best, whatever that was. He needed them _all_ at their best, quite frankly, and Sam knew that was going to mean blowing off steam wherever they could. But with healthy outlets, like video games or intense gym sessions or a quiet soak in warm tub. Not yelling at each other and threatening suicide.  
  
"How?" Steve ground out, swiping angrily at his eyes. "It isn't fair. It's like the universe rolled a dice and it landed on him and everything decided to try to eat him alive and it's not fair!" He went back to grinding his teeth again, looking away from them and trying to collect himself. Tony watched the ground as they walked and Sam could only wonder at what he thought of this. Whatever it was, Tony kept it to himself, and Sam silently thanked him for it.  
  
"You're right, it's not," Sam agreed, just to let him know he was listening. That he understood.  
  
"You'd think the universe would've learned by now to cut it out," Tony said finally. His voice had an unusual measured quality to it. Like he'd put this line together mathematically with the goal of the solution being 'whatever it takes to get Steve to not look that sad'. Sam gave Tony crap, just like the rest of them, but at the end of the day, he was probably the most selfless out of all of them. He had every right to be throwing his own fit right now, to yell at Steve about his own tragic life full of problems that no one ever seemed to care about, but he didn't. "I mean, given you've been there at every turn to punch it in the face."  
  
Steve breathed out slow and even through his nose and shook his head. "Always a little late."  
  
"Doesn't matter if you're late. What matters is you're here," Sam said. "Bucky isn't keeping score, trust me." Far as Bucky was concerned, Steve wasn't capable of doing serious wrongs.  
  
"That's 'cause he's too damn good," Steve snapped but Sam knew none of that anger was for him. "Even after everything that happened to him, and he has every right to be the most selfish asshole on the planet he just-His first thought isn't about how to spare himself, it's how do I spare everyone else, and it-He shouldn't-" Steve cut himself off again with another snap of his jaw coming tight together like a bear trap. Sam thought if he looked hard enough he could see Steve actually swallowing back the emotions he was trying to puke up. It hurt to watch. He'd only let out the anger but he was only human, bound to feeling more than that in a situation as fucked up as this one.  
  
"I know, man. You care about him and it twists you up inside seeing him get hurt," Sam said. He thought maybe if he led the way Steve would follow.  
  
Steve nodded fiercely. "It's shitty hearing him say he'd-he'd-" Steve couldn't finish, shaking his head instead. "I just want him to be safe and happy and it feels like I keep coming up short on making it happen. There's _always_ something I'm missing. He always did his best for me, and I can't even keep him out of harm's way. I don't deserve-" He cut himself off again, brows furrowed deeply at the ground as they walked.  
  
"It's okay," Sam said again.  
  
Steve kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke, an unusual thing for him. He wasn't one to hide from people, even if what he had to say was hard. "It's been-" He stopped, mouth coming closed for a moment like he had to roll the words over his tongue a few times to test them out. "Since he came home I don't know-" Frustration crept into his features and he balled his hands into fists briefly before he spat it all out at once like a bite of rotten food. "I'm so terrified of what I am to him and I can't stand it sometimes. If I've manipulated him the way they did just because-He knew me. He knew that he knew me but he didn't know the context and-" Again Steve ground his teeth and Sam wanted so badly to help him find the words he needed but knew he couldn't. It hurt an untold amount to watch his friend hurt like that and being so helpless to deal with it. "He didn't know what a friend even was! I wonder, every day, if I've forced him to be who he is now. If he saw me as his new handler, and just turned himself into what would please me the most. And it makes me sick because I-I-" His lips started to form the word he wouldn't say, for whatever reason, and that was that. Some small portion of Sam's brain was willing him to say it, to just spit it out and admit it and embrace it and let himself feel what he felt but Steve was easily the most stubborn bastard on the planet so it wasn't happening.  
  
"You think Barnes just sees you as a glorified handler?" Tony asked. "Like, even after all this time?"  
  
Steve exhaled and shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
"Well, I have this revolutionary theory about how to fix that," Tony said, smacking a hand down onto Steve's shoulder. He leaned in slightly, like it was a secret he didn't want any eavesdropping competitors getting a hold of. "You _ask._ " He raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly.  
  
Steve glared back but it was an acceptable kind of glare. The kind that said he wasn't as pissed as he looked, just annoyed and probably half of it at himself.  
  
"Oh shit," Sam said, holding a hand to his mouth. "Oh _shit_ , Tony, this changes the whole field."  
  
"It's what I do," Tony said with a nonchalant shrug.  
  
"I ever tell you guys-"  
  
"That we're dicks?" Tony and Sam asked in unison. Steve swept out a hand and nodded.  
  
"Look man, you know we're mostly playing, but Tony's right," Sam said.  
  
"Ooh," Tony put in, body rattling in a mock-shiver. "Gonna bottle that up and take it home with me. I'm _right,_ he says."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, you enjoy that, 'cause it isn't gonna last forever," Sam shot back at him, getting a small high from the change in mood. He was very experienced with making it through tense and heavy conversations, but that didn't make it easy. And maybe they hadn't solved anything but they weren't the ones who could. Steve would have to. So Sam said to him, "All we mean is, maybe it's time you and Bucky had a real talk about all that kind of stuff. I know it's hard, what with all the other shit going on. But if you're that worried about how he sees you, if he just is what he is because he feels like you ordered it out of him, that you're only friends because he feels like you have some power over him-" Sam shrugged. "All you can do is talk through it. It isn't going away on its own. And..." Here Sam paused because he wasn't a hundred percent sure how to proceed. He looked at Steve. At Tony, who was waiting for him to continue. He took a breath and dove in because it's what Steve would've done for him. "Back there. What that thing was making Bucky do, and say. About-"  
  
"No." Steve said it sharply.  
  
But Strange had told Sam. Get him to loosen up. This would count as part of that, right? "I'm just trying to make sure you know, we don't-"  
  
"I know," Steve said quickly. His pace picked up a little. Tony made a face at Sam that made it plain he did not, in fact, think Steve knew it at all. Sam pressed his lips together and blew out a breath. Maybe the middle of a highly tense and violent exorcism wasn't the best time to discuss Steve's repressed sexuality and Bucky's near lack of one.  
  
But Sam had to at least say this: "Just want certain people under this roof to know we don't care who they're with."  
  
"Even if we don't, exactly, get _why_ certain people want to be with certain other people," Tony added quietly.  
  
Sam looked back at him and mouthed a fierce _thank you!_ Because seriously, Steve could walk into any club and have any dude or lady he wanted, so it just did not compute for Sam that he wanted the utter wreck of a human being that was Bucky Barnes.  
  
"I know," Steve said again, finally stopping to look at them as he spoke. And he was tired. So plainly tired, in the way he held himself, in the way his face didn't bother putting up a neutral front anymore. Sam hated everything that was happening right now because Steve patently Did Not Need This. "It's not just about...what others might think. I know the world's different now. I know that. It's just complicated."  
  
Complicated. Yeah that was a good word for 'I might be in love with a dude I grew up with in Depression Era New York and then we both got genetically altered and frozen for seven decades and also one of us is possessed by a demon'.  
  
"Peggy would want you to be happy," Tony said suddenly, and even though he was expected to say shit that made others roll their eyes or cringe or sigh with irritation, this sentence sounded strained, even for him. Like either he didn't want to say it or he knew exactly what kind of fallout it could cause but had to say it anyway or maybe it was both.  
  
Steve reacted instantly, eyes settling on Tony in a fierce expression and he said, "Don't. I swear to God, Tony, _don't._ "  
  
Sam felt like he'd just been yelled at by his mom even though he wasn't the one who'd said anything. And then he felt like an idiot because Peggy. It was Peggy's voice coming out of Bucky back there, accusing Steve of forgetting her, of moving on without her. Steve had said Peggy was the first person he'd ever loved romantically, so of course that meant he had to be ripped away from her only to be returned just in time to watch her die. That's how the universe worked for Steve Rogers.  
  
"I just think you need to recognize that," Tony continued anyway. "Strange said this thing thrives on negativity and what's more negative than holding on to things you can't change and denying yourself what would make you happy because of it?" Damn. Maybe Sam and Tony needed to switch jobs for a day because that was way more insightful than Sam thought Tony was capable of.  
  
"This isn't about-" Steve spat angrily. Then he sighed. "Why is everyone always so invested in my personal business, huh? Between Natasha trying to set me up with everything on two legs and you two trying to coax me into a relationship with someone I have an inordinate amount of power over, someone who has shown _zero_ interest in having such a relationship with _anyone_ , much less that he has a healthy understanding of what that would even entail, maybe I'm over dating altogether! How about that? Maybe _I_ don't want to be bothered? Would that shut everyone up?"  
  
Without giving them a chance to respond, he turned on his heel and walked away. Neither of them bothered trying to catch up. The clip he was walking at meant it'd turn into a jog if they tried. "Well, that went better than _I_ thought it would," Tony said. "How about you?"  
  
"I expected more punching, yeah," Sam admitted. But he thought, maybe they'd made some progress. It was the most he'd heard Steve talk about feelings outside of the context of things that pissed him off since they'd first encountered the Winter Soldier. So maybe it took monumental horrors and tragedies to get Steve to divulge a thing or two about his emotional state, but at least it was happening.  
  
xx  
  
"James. What are you doing?"  
  
He didn't answer, unless you counted burying his face further between the pillow over his head and the bed. Which she didn't, even if she was very good with non-verbal cues.  
  
"That's not going to suffocate you, you know," she reminded him. She pulled the door closed behind her.  
  
"I know that," he snapped into the bed sheets, unmoving. "Don't come in here and tell me all about how good life can be and whatever." He swiped a hand outward, as if to rid himself of that 'whatever'.  
  
She shook her head. "I didn't plan on it. I didn't think you'd believe me anyway." She moved from the door to the end of the bed and sat. Quietly, so he could adjust to her presence, she took in her surroundings. It was a little messy. Not so much as it had been when he first came back and had no idea how to manage this sudden influx of 'stuff' such as his clothes and notebooks. Being unused to having things of your own meant not knowing what to do with them. Over time he got used to using hangers, filing stuff away, keeping things more organized so you knew where to find them because no one was going to do it for you anymore. It wasn't quite as immaculate as Sam or Steve's ex-soldier spaces. But it wouldn't surprise her if he got that way soon enough. "Steve does care about you, you know," she said, never one for beating around the bush with him. He wouldn't get it anyway. Not because he was dumb, but because small talk and double meanings were frustrating for people who had only ever been spoken to as directly as possible.  
  
He made a loud noise into the bed, something between a groan and a wordless yell. She couldn't help but smirk.  
  
"What's that for?" she asked. She leaned back on her hands and brought her chin to her shoulder to look back at him.  
  
He kicked a little to flip himself over and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know if I want to talk about that," he said to the roof. "In fact, I think I don't want to at all."  
  
"Well, sorry, James. Once you express a death wish, it's my responsibility to talk to you about things you don't want to talk about," she said.  
  
"Why?" he asked.  
  
"You'd do it for me, wouldn't you?"  
  
He sat up instantly and leaned forward, eyes big and worried. "You don't want to die, do you?"  
  
She shook her head. "See what you felt just now?" He blinked, then looked down at himself, brows furrowed in concentration. "That's how it felt for us to hear you say what you said. Understand?"  
  
And she'd get it if he didn't. Because it was a hard thing to get over, thinking it was _just different_ for you. He looked up without tilting his head. "But I don't get it. All I do is cause problems. Between the triggers and this, I'm not safe to have around." He'd treated himself like a piece of equipment. Done a risk assessment and found he wasn't worth it.  
  
"That was a logical thing to say. Except for one part." She tapped his kneecap so he'd look at her as she said it, because it was important for him to know. "You're a person, and not a tool for us to use. You don't just discard people because they have some difficulties. You do what you can to help them get better."  
  
"What if I can't be better?" It wasn't just a contrarian, throw away question, something said to annoy her. It was a genuine fear and she knew it because she'd had it too. Sometimes still did and maybe it was a thought that would never go away as long as they lived but it got smaller, that much was certain. Small enough to be brushed aside and forgotten about until it crawled out and tried again to tear them down.  
  
"Then we keep helping you until you do."  
  
He sighed at her like that wasn't a satisfactory answer. Then he grabbed her by the arm, and tugged her closer. She allowed it, and they both rearranged themselves until they were sitting side by side. She thought they looked like a couple of girls at a middle school sleepover, ready to trade secrets. It was ridiculous and never in her youth could she have imagined herself in such a position with the terrifying Winter Soldier.  
  
But here he was, with his big eyes that fought to express anger and irritation and fear and sadness all at once. "Do you ever wish you could go back? To how you were before?" he asked in a low voice like he was afraid someone may hear them.  
  
She stared at him because how could he want something like that?  
  
Her look of disbelief seemed to get to him and he shook his head quickly. "Not all the way. I just mean-certain parts of it. Were easier. Right?" Now he looked down even if he wanted to beg her with his eyes that he wasn't crazy for thinking that way. That she could confirm this was normal, so he didn't have another reason to be one of the biggest anomalies of the human race.  
  
"Be more specific," she said, trying to give him a chance to explain himself better before giving a resounding, firm no. Because of course she didn't want to be someone else's tool again. Of course she didn't want to go back to killing indiscriminately, with no feelings about it, human lives reduced to nothing. And surely he couldn't want that either.  
  
She could see his tongue peek out of his mouth as he thought it through, assembled the words he needed, words he probably still wasn't used to using, even now. "I mean the way..." He looked up a little, so that his hair didn't obscure his face entirely. "The way your head could be empty. How everything could be empty. And not in the way you feel empty if you're really sad, but just really, truly _empty._ So you didn't have to feel so much. Or at all." He looked at her sheepishly, trying to gauge her reaction but he wasn't good enough to read her face when she didn't want to let him. So he looked back down and picked at the fingers of his right hand. "Or maybe not," he muttered.  
  
She put her hand over his to stop him from tearing at himself like that. "I'd be lying if I said there weren't days where I wish I could feel nothing," she told him. "And I know it's difficult for you, especially, because whatever feelings you would have had with them were uncomplicated." It was a myth to say none of them had been allowed to feel. Anger could be useful. Shame could be useful. And certainly they let them have these. She knew that from their fight in DC. How frustrated he was with Steve because he'd never faced a target he couldn't easily kill and the longer the fight went on, the more trouble he knew he'd be in when he returned to his handlers. "But now it's not so simple. So it's harder to deal with and you aren't used to it."  
  
"Do you? Get used to it, I mean."  
  
"Yes and no."  
  
He fell back again to stare at the ceiling and said suddenly, "It's too much, it's like-everything, going all these different ways. Like somebody told you to chase down twenty different targets at once and they all split up and you can't keep up and you know it and you know they know it and you know you're going to fail." He covered his face with his hands briefly before letting them sink back into his hair. "I don't know how to handle it and I feel too full inside but not in a good way. Not like when you're happy. I feel like I have to explode."  
  
"So explode," she told him with a shrug. He stared back at her, confusion plain. "You're allowed to be angry and sad and feel messed up. It doesn't mean you aren't getting better. It means you're as human as the rest of us." It'd taken her a very long time to understand that. Living didn't mean feeling nothing but happiness. A real, normal life wasn't that static.  
  
"But I don't even know completely what I'm angry or sad about," he said, elbows dropping to his knees.  
"You still have your notebooks, right?"  
  
He nodded. Of everything that was his, they were the most valued. She understood. Your memories become much more dear to you when it's a real possibility they may either be taken away or falsified.  
  
"Write in them what you're feeling and see where it takes you. It can be hard to think through things sometimes. Like you said, there can be too much going on, and it can be impossible to keep up with any one thought. If you write it down, it might be easier," she explained. For a moment she had an odd feeling. Something like deja vu, but for the wrong memories. It wasn't that she'd experienced this before. But she remembered, a long time ago, his steady and quiet voice as he taught her and the other girls how to track a target through a scope. How to use a blade. She didn't know what that might be called, or if it even had a name.  
  
He sat there for a moment without saying anything. He seemed unnaturally still and she'd be lying if she said it didn't make her nervous. Not after everything that had happened recently. But then he said, "Do you think I'm bad? For wanting to-"  
  
"No," she said immediately. "I don't want you to do it. But no."  
  
"Have you ever thought about it?" he asked her.  
  
Again, she didn't want to lie to him. "There were times. They feel very far away now. I didn't hate myself. It was nothing like that. But I felt-" She kept her lips parted as she searched for the right word, as if it might find its way easier because of that.  
  
"Purposeless," he supplied quietly.  
  
"Yes," she admitted and felt all the more foolish for it. Maybe that was one of the hardest lessons to learn, that your life didn't have to mean anything grand or important. You didn't have to have any significant, pre-ordained reason to be alive. You could live just to live, and that was fine. Your purpose could be whatever you wanted it to be. She looked at him, still staring at the floor. She couldn't see his face so she pushed his hair back behind his ear. "Do you feel that way?"  
  
"I don't know," he admitted. "Sometimes. Before it was-I was still trying to figure it out because I thought if you guys wanted me around, there had to be a reason. You'd give me assignments. You'd be my new handlers. But the assignments never came and I didn't know what to do." He laughed a little then looked at her. "That sounds really stupid, doesn't it?"  
  
"No. It sounds normal, given the context of your life."  
  
"I still don't know. About having a purpose or whatever. Sometimes I don't care and I get it, that it isn't a big deal. But sometimes I still feel very weird inside without one. I feel all kinds of things I don't know why I feel them."  
  
She leaned back onto her elbows. "Like what?" she asked.  
  
He fell back beside her on his back. "Like...I miss the routine and order and I knew what to expect. That's not so bad anymore. Once I got used to this place, and the people here. But before, everybody here just seemed so different. From what I was used to. And it was hard to understand why you'd act how you did."  
  
Again, she understood that very well. Even if she had been permitted to interact with people more than he ever had, she understood. When your whole life was dictated to you by others, being suddenly thrown together with people who expected you to have it figured out for yourself would be hard to deal with. Hard to accept.  
  
"I miss, um, the ice. Sometimes." His knee was bouncing as he spoke. "Just because I knew nothing bad happened there."  
  
That one horrified even her. Or maybe it was less because of him wanting it and more because of the idea of being trapped like that. So completely and totally.  
  
"And...well..."  
  
"It's okay," she said.  
  
He turned to look at her and his face was twisted with confusion and sadness as he admitted, "Sometimes, I miss _him_. Because-" Quickly he looked back up at the ceiling, away from her. "I know he wasn't kind or good or any of that. Not to me. But he made me think he was. He was the only person who told me I was good for-for a long time. And I'll feel kind of, like panicked, I guess, that he's dead and I don't know what to do without him. But then I'll feel gross for even thinking that. It's stupid and weird and I hate it."  
  
She frowned and muttered out her pity for him in Russian.  
  
"Please don't," he muttered back.  
  
"I understand," she said, laying on her side to face him. He was suddenly irritable. Probably more at himself for admitting what he just had than at her. He shoved himself up and started pacing. She sat up to watch him. "James. It isn't as weird as you think. A lot of people who survive abuse, they might miss their abusers because at least it was familiar and change is-"  
  
"Can you just forget I said any of that?" he said quickly.  
  
She studied his body language. Obviously tense. She thought of Strange's advice, that they needed to relax, to try not to let the stress get to them. Maybe it wasn't the best time to try to help him through deeply painful and confusing issues like these. "Okay," she said.  
  
"Can we-" he started but then shook his head and flailed his hands a little like he could physically wrest the frustration out of himself. "I don't know-"  
  
"We don't have to talk anymore," she said.  
  
"I know they aren't going to let you leave me alone," he practically snapped back. "Because of what I said before."  
  
She nodded. "None of us wants to see you get hurt."  
  
"What happened to me getting to make my own decisions?"  
  
She pressed her lips together. He was getting petulant. Overwhelmed. She needed to calm him down. Who knew what might happen if she didn't? "We want you to make well-informed decisions. Not rash ones with terrible consequences."  
  
"It's just logical," he insisted, finally standing still to look at her. His eyes were getting a wild edge to them and her stomach felt empty and she looked away when he spoke. "If you destroy a weapon, nobody can use it against anyone."  
  
"You are a person, James, not a weapon."  
  
"Is that what you think, Natalia?"  
  
She looked up at him, the cold tone of his voice stopping her heart. He stared back at her, and she felt like a small animal, trapped, waiting for a predator to pounce. "James," she said quietly because she was not so certain that they were alone.  
  
Abruptly, a siren blared behind her and she jumped. She wasn't in his room anymore.  
  
Rooted to the spot, she stared as if in a daze even as the heat of the flames licked at her skin. She could smell the bodies burning. It didn't even make her wrinkle her nose. The screaming. All that pain. Her fault.  
  
Corpses littered the corridor of the hospital. Doctors, patients. Children. She did not discriminate. Life had no value. Not even hers.  
  
Someone crawled from one of the burning rooms beside her. They screamed, their words unintelligible, mangled by the pain. Their skin was largely gone, red, black, sloughing away. She could still see their eyes. Begging. Screaming. Anything to end this pain. Unaware she'd been the one to cause it all.  
  
The building was rocked by an explosion and she fell to her knees. Smoke filled her lungs and she coughed around it and the scent of burnt flesh. She dragged herself forward. Towards a window. An exit. Anything to get away. And-and she shouldn't be here. This wasn't real. This was-  
  
Someone grabbed her by the back of her hair. Dragged her deeper into the fire. She struggled, placing blows wherever she could reach, desperate. "We are. What we are made. To be." She looked up and out of the corner of her eye she'd been so certain it was James. Her vision was blurred by the sting of the smoke but she knew whatever had a hold on her was not human.  
  
It threw her, easily, into one of the many burning rooms. Her breath left her on impact with the floor. She forced herself to move anyway, lungs aching for clean air. She pressed herself up, ears full with the sound of pained, hysterical wailing. The crackle of flames. They were infants. Just born. Hours out of the womb and she'd killed them.  
  
Frantic now, she turned away, trying to get a grip on reality. Trying to remember that this was not real, that it had happened a long time ago. She couldn't change the past, she couldn't, she couldn't-  
  
She turned to it. The thing she knew was waiting by the door. The thing that wouldn't let her leave this place. She felt it more than saw it. An ominous, all-consuming presence, drowning her in an inescapable and endless well of dread. She screwed her eyes shut when it spoke, voice like thunder, "Fate. Can not. Be outrun."  
  
"Th-this isn't real," she managed to grate out. Strange had said. Belief. Belief was important and she had to believe-  
  
Another explosion, so near her she felt the wind of it on her face, and she screamed. Just one among hundreds, maybe thousands. Pain raced along her every nerve as the fire bit at her skin. It curled, blackened, almost like paper, the stench of her own flesh cooking filling her nostrils and she screamed and screamed-  
  
"Nat! Jesus Nat it's okay!"  
  
She coughed and clung and her fingers dug into whoever's arm she had a hold on. Her eyes still stung and brimmed with tears and her heart still pounded. She gasped for breath. Looked first at her surroundings. James's room. Her skin-still in tact. No flames. No smoke or screaming or death. Clint was there, eyes so full of fear, concern. Did she even deserve it?  
  
"Are you with me here?" Clint asked. His hands were tight on her shoulders. She loosened her own grip, trying to slow her pounding heart.  
  
"The-the hospital," she managed to get out and he cursed.  
  
"Oh, Nat," he said.  
  
"What happened?" It was Steve. He stood in the doorway. She could hear others jogging to catch up with him.  
  
"I-" she started, unsure of how to continue. She could never tell any of them about this. What would they think of her? "I saw...It was-" The word _liar_ pounded in her head over and over. She tried to think straight, tried to remember she couldn't change what she'd done, tried to remember-  
  
"That God damned thing fucked with her head," Clint supplied. He squeezed her shoulder, telling her he'd never give away details she didn't want getting out. She squeezed back, a silent thanks. The contact grounded her. Reminded her that Clint knew it all and he didn't hate her. So maybe they wouldn't either.  
  
"Shit, are you okay?" Sam asked, out of breath as he made it to the room.  
  
She nodded. "I think so. It was just a-a hallucination. Or something." She looked around the room, as if to make sure everything was still in place. No flames. No death. No- "Where's James?"  
  
Clint drew his brows together. "I thought he was in here with you."  
  
"He was," she said. "But then-"  
  
"Oh shit," Strange muttered. She followed his line of sight, spotting what she'd missed in her panic. The floor was wet. There were gouges in the wood. Like someone had been dragged away.  
  
"What happened?" Steve demanded.  
  
"I need to go, now," Strange said quickly, turning towards the door.  
  
Steve wasn't a fan of being ignored. He grabbed Strange by the wrist before he could disappear back down the hall and repeated himself. "What. Happened."  
  
Strange shook Steve off. "It took him. And we have very little time to get him back."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve has difficulties discussing his emotions, gets frustrated with Sam and Tony, and yells at them about it. Minor internalized homophobia. Steve realizes his friends don't judge him for what he feels and it isn't the biggest obstacle in confronting his feelings but it can be interpreted that way so I thought I'd leave a warning just in case.
> 
> Bucky mentions missing his abuser in spite of the abuse. Natasha experiences a hallucination of being trapped in a burning building, seeing people burned alive, including infants, then finally herself, all described in some detail.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold onto your butts. This chapter is quite long! New warnings for gas-lighting and manipulation.

"What do you mean it _took him?"_ Steve demanded, following after Strange as he rushed down the hall.  
  
"You know what words mean, right? Maybe there's a dictionary around here that could help-"  
  
And Sam was no stranger to sarcasm. None of them were, living under this roof. But maybe he had hit his limit. Strange was supposed to be helping them, but his bedside manner could be kind of shitty and Sam was done with it. He'd just heard Bucky decide that suicide was a viable option. He'd watched Steve tangle himself up into knots trying to process that. And that was just the shit that his mind could adequately process. So he may have sounded kind of impatient when he shouted, "You know what, man? You need to work on your people skills because they're a god damned mess. We asked you to work with us here. Maybe you know all there is to know about this shit but we don't! We're all stressed as hell and you tell us to chill out but then condescend to us left and right. Those two things are _not_ compatible so if you really wanted to help, you'd fix that quick!"  
  
Strange stopped and Sam expected just as vicious of a rebuttal but to his surprise, Strange closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And when he opened them again, both his tone and his expression were a little more gentle. Not cuddly by any means, but definitely less sarcastic. "Okay, I'll make a note of that, but this is what I need you to understand: this is doomsday level, for you and your friends. A demon that puts forth the incredible amount of effort necessary to drag a living body into the astral plane is both extremely pissed and extremely reckless. We have a very narrow window to find Barnes while the thing recuperates so I need to go _now._ "  
  
"Get back from where? What the hell is an astral plane?" Steve asked. He looked utterly bewildered, maybe like he was actually panicking, which was making Sam more than a little anxious because neither Steve Rogers nor Captain America panicked. They acted. But this was so far outside the realm of normal that Steve had no idea what actions he could even take.  
  
"Like...like a spirit world," Strange explained. He was looking through the kitchen cabinets, shoving spices this way and that, until he found what he was looking for. Salt, pepper, cumin, basil, cayenne pepper, bay leaves, dill...  
  
"They got a potluck going on there we don't know about?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at the increasing assortment of herbs and spices being spread out on the counter. He went ignored but thought that was fair enough.   
  
"And you're going there after him?" Natasha asked. She was still trying to get a stranglehold on her shaking voice and it hurt to listen to. Because again, it was so uncharacteristic of her. They were all being pressed to places they didn't usually go and it was painful to witness.  
  
"Yes. I'm going to need a quiet place and-"  
  
"You can't go after him alone, he won't trust you," Natasha said, trying to speak quickly before Strange took off to a place they couldn't follow.   
  
"I can find a way-" Strange tried but Natasha cut him off with a sharp shake of her head.  
  
"We follow your lead on the things you know about, now it's your turn to listen to us," she said. "He's going to be confused and uncertain, which leads to extreme caution. He will _not_ trust you. He barely knows you as it is. Can you bring one of us with you, somehow?"  
  
Strange hesitated, like he saw her logic but didn't want to handle it. "It's very dangerous. I can't take your corporeal form with me, not like it did with him. But I can take your spirit, and that leaves your body very vulnerable to a multitude of disasters. Ghosts, demons, spirits, all kinds of things spend eternity looking for ways to get here. An empty, living body is their ticket to our reality."  
  
"So we're just trading one risk for another," Sam reasoned. "Either you go alone and can't get Bucky back, or Steve goes with you and gets possessed by something along the way."  
  
"Since when did Steve volunteer?" Strange asked, plainly missing that part.  
  
But everybody else in the room-save Steve-just exchanged knowing glances because come on. "Take me along," Steve said. "If something...takes my body or whatever, you can get rid of it when you come back, right?"  
  
"Depends on what takes your body," Strange said darkly. But then he sighed a quick huff of breath. "Okay, we don't have a ton of time to debate this. So if this is what you really want to do, we'll do it."  
  
"Yes," Steve said immediately.   
  
"Alright. I'm going to need a tub," Strange said, ticking off his requests on his fingers. "Big enough for Steve to lay in when it's full. Some candles. Doesn't matter what kind. Something belonging to Barnes that holds deep significance to him. And I'm going to need you two to watch over us while we're under." He pointed first to Sam and then to Tony, the latter of which sputtered a little.  
  
"Why us?" Tony asked.  
  
"Because I said so," Strange responded. "The clock is ticking."  
  
At that reminder, they sprang into action. Sam tried not to speculate why Strange named him and Tony specifically. It wasn't like he had any insight into how astral projections worked so he couldn't possibly come up with a satisfactory explanation anyway. He helped Natasha gather up candles. They had a pack under the kitchen sink in the unlikely event of a power outage that the backup generators didn't catch. Wanda offered up a bag of tea lights from her room. Steve was digging through Bucky's room for God knew what to satisfy Strange's request. Bucky attached emotional significance to damn near everything because he was a dweeb and maybe because everything mattered more when you still lived with the anxiety that it might be taken from you at any time. Tony and Clint started filling a bath tub with warm water like Strange demanded and the wizard himself started arranging the candles throughout the room.   
  
Even though only Tony and Sam were specifically requested to be there, pretty much everybody tagged along because who wouldn't? How many chances do you get to watch something like this happen? Of course, Sam felt some kind of responsibility here, having been called out like that, so it made it a little harder to sit back and watch like a show.  
  
Steve got back last, holding a ragged ass looking notebook. It was about five by seven inches and very worn. He seemed almost hesitant to give it to Strange but did. "When he first got away from Hydra, he dug this out of a dumpster so he could log every day and jot down any old memories. Just in case they'd get erased again," Steve said, trying to explain why it might be significant.  
  
"That's perfect," Strange said. He sat down with it and opened it.   
  
"Hey!" Steve snapped. "That's not why I gave it to you!"  
  
"I'm not reading it, simmer down and get in the tub," Strange said distractedly. He popped open the bottle of bay leaves and placed it on the page of the notebook. Steve watched warily but did as he was asked, getting in the water fully clothed. Strange wrote something on the leaf, then closed it in the book. "Okay." He looked up and set the notebook on the floor. "Sam and Tony. You're going to keep Steve from sinking under the water, or from leaving it before I'm back."  
  
Tony glanced purposefully at the tub. Steve's knees were poking out from the water, since he was unable to fully submerge himself. It wasn't a deep tub but Sam always heard it only took an inch of water for a person to drown so he didn't argue. "Um, okay," Tony mumbled.   
  
"And be ready," Strange added as he started scattering the herbs and spices. Some only went in the tub with Steve, who watched with plain confusion, and some only went on the floor. Finally he spilled salt in a line in front of the tub, along the threshold of the door, and in a circle near the tub.  
  
"For what?" Sam asked.  
  
"You'll know."  
  
"As a scientist, I enjoy vagueness, a lot," Tony said.   
  
"The rest of you," Strange said, turning back to look at the crowded doorway. "Don't interfere. No matter what happens, you do not cross that line." He pointed to the salt he'd poured there.  
  
"This is making me feel real good," Sam said.   
  
"Hey, you guys wanted this, you're getting it," Strange said. "Here we go." He snapped and all of the candles were lit at once. Then came the chants and the glowing circles around his hands and the water started to change. Steve's eyes were rolling back in his head and Sam felt a little sick watching it happen. Because he didn't look like he was just falling asleep. He looked like he was dying. Finally, Steve's head lolled back, settling against the porcelain edge with a light _thunk_.   
  
"That's a neat trick," Tony said quietly, watching the water change to a kind of violet and blue color. The bottom of the tub grew so dark they couldn't see it anymore.  
  
"Alright, I'm going after him now," Strange said. He settled in place in the middle of the circle he'd drawn, legs crossed, Bucky's journal in his lap. "Don't try to wake either of us up." And that was the last thing he told them before he steepled his fingers and closed his eyes.

* * *

Everything around him was like a blur at first, like someone had taken a photo without bothering to properly focus the lens. There were soft lights, floating, like they were being carried by a wind he couldn't feel. He saw movement, human-sized, and he realized it was Tony and Sam.   
  
"You guys?" he spoke but his voice sounded strange. It seemed to echo. Reedy and weak, there was no power to it. They didn't even twitch, and if he had to guess from the tilt of their heads, they were focused on something around his feet. So he looked down.   
  
It was him. His body. Dead and empty, glowing in a dull kind of way and his heart-did he _have_ a heart right now?-seized as his chest tightened and he scrambled back because what the hell, what the fuck-  
  
"Steve." Strange's voice was clear and strong, like a light at the end of a dark tunnel. Steve jerked a little, looking towards the source and found the man waiting.   
  
"That's-" he managed in his weakened voice, pointing at his body.  
  
"You," Strange conceded with a nod. "Well, your body anyway."   
  
Steve gaped at Strange and tried to calm himself down. Because if the guy who knew what was going on here wasn't alarmed by this, he probably shouldn't be either. Strange looked just like he did in real life, sounded that way too, not like Steve's weaker version of his own voice. Steve took a glance at himself. The ground seemed to fluctuate beneath him, far and close, far and close. He realized it was his height. It wouldn't stay consistent. He looked at his hands and they melted and thickened, his arms, legs, everything about him seemed to change constantly between who he'd been before the war and who he was now. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Welcome to the astral plane." Strange made a sweeping gesture at the room around them, and Steve took probably the weirdest step of his life as the length and strength and thickness of his leg changed with every stride. "We all have an internal image of ourselves. This image often changes over time, and in some instances, something as simple as a shift in mood can effect it. For someone like you who has experienced such dramatic changes in your physical self, it can be difficult to retain a concrete self-image."

Steve considered that, tried to just take whatever Strange said at face value. This was all way out of his league, after all, and he needed Strange's help. So he didn't have a consistent way of looking at himself. And he guessed that was true enough. Some days he felt as strong as his newer body looked. Then others, he felt weak and helpless, like no matter what he did, he'd never fix the things he wanted. "Makes sense, I guess," Steve muttered. "Why doesn't your body do this?"

"I have more experience here. It took me a long time to craft the stable image you're seeing. This place, after all, isn't meant for the dynamics of a still-evolving body and mind like yours and mine. In a word, the living." Strange turned his attention outward, sharp eyes seeming to take in everything around them. It looked like the facility, but somehow foggier, the edges blurred. It reminded him of how he saw the world when he covered up his left eye to look out only through the right, all the edges and clarity gone, but the general images still there. "Come on. Let's get going."

Steve swallowed hard-or did he, if he wasn't really in his body anymore? Either way he spared one last glance at his vulnerable body before turning to the open door where Strange waited. It should've led to one of the halls in the facility, but it led directly outside instead. The world was muted and grey and dull, still foggy. In the field, at the edge of the compound where the woods began, a woman with dark hair sat and wept, cradling something in her arms. A kid, Steve realized. He could see them both with perfect clarity, unlike Tony and Sam. He started to move towards her, but Strange stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "Is she okay?" Steve asked. Something in him found it hard to move on while someone suffered, even when he had a task to complete.

"No. Nobody here is. We have to stay the course."

Steve forced himself to follow. This place wasn't his area of expertise. Pretty far from it, considering he had no idea how to not be alive. Even if he'd slept in ice for seventy years, he still made it out. He knew he had to defer to Strange on all of this if he wanted Bucky back. "What happened to her?"

"Death. Likely sudden and unexpected, or maybe it was the child's death. She couldn't accept it. So she'll stay there, until she can find a way to move on."

"Move on to what?"

"The afterlife."

"This isn't it?" Steve asked. He looked over his shoulder at the woman one more time. Her face was horribly burnt and Steve quickly looked away. It felt absolutely wrong, but he had to focus. Had to remember Bucky.

"No. This is a little worse."

The woman in the field was far from the last spirit they saw. Or whatever the things were. Steve guessed they were spirits, even if a lot of them were mangled and bloodied, some even with rotten skin. Each time Steve saw one, he forced himself to look. Any of them could end up being Bucky, or even the demon that stole his body. Not that he really knew what that would look like.

"I figured a quick scan of the perimeter may have been worthwhile. It's a tall order, dragging an entire living body into the astral plain, so I could see them not having gone far," Strange explained. "But they aren't here. So. Have any ideas?"  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For dinner," Strange responded before rolling his eyes. "For where Barnes might be. There's an extremely high likelihood the demon lost its grip on him, so he'll run. If you were him, where would you go to feel safe?"  
  
Steve tried to think. If he wasn't here in the compound, there weren't many places Steve could think of. "Maybe...my old apartment in DC?"  
  
"Sounds good," Strange said. He maneuvered his hands and the gold circles started spinning to life. They both stepped through the big ring of sparks, something Steve had never done before. Suddenly they were in DC and Steve might've needed to catch his breath. But then he remembered he wasn't exactly breathing anything at all, weird as it was. There were way more bodies here, not just dead ones either. People. Real people, moving about their lives, scurrying around. And then-

"Dr. Strange!" he shouted, pointing across the street. There was...a thing. Steve had no idea how to describe it. It had four legs, but the legs were like a fly's, hairy and stick thin and segmented. Six arms jutted at random from its pudgy midsection, the hands caressing one of the bodies on the street, crooning softly from a mouth full of jagged, yellow teeth. Its face was covered in hairs or needles or something, and Steve couldn't find eyes on it for the life of him.

Strange found it instantly, but shook his head. "No. That one's too little."

"That one what? " Steve asked.

"Demon."

He did a double take. He hadn't expected something so...weird. Maybe it was juvenile but he guessed he'd been picturing devil horns and cloven-hooved goat feet. "That's what demons look like?" he asked.

Strange shrugged. "Some of them. They're all different, though some share common traits."

"I thought demons were fallen angels."

"Humanity has had a variety of ways of interpreting the baffling existence of demons. Trickster spirits, gods and goddesses, wayward angels, the list goes on. But there are more demons than those counted by any religion on our planet. They've existed long before our species, and will continue on long after we've all died." Strange spared a pitiful glance towards the demon. Or maybe it was for whatever person it was whispering to.

So Steve had to ask, "What's it doing?"

"Whatever it can to create chaos and discord. Fear and anger weaken us. Leave us prone to invasions. Love and mercy are the best cures for a demon at this stage, and a lot of people in our world go without either."

Steve watched for a moment, even as Strange moved on. He knew he shouldn't intervene. Strange had specifically told him not to. But...

He snuck closer to the person. He had no idea who they were, what they looked like. They could've been anyone, from a crooked politician to a nun. Maybe even just a homeless person or a drug addict. Whoever they were and whatever they did, Steve couldn't bring himself to abandon them to a demon. So he whispered in the other ear, "You're stronger than this."

Suddenly a hand seized him by the shoulder, rough and angry, jerking him forward. The jagged teeth of the demon crashed together, inches from Steve's face. He would've retched at the smell if he could. "Mine, mine, mine!"

"Leave them alone," Steve snapped, kicking a leg out. He caught the thing in its gut-maybe?-and it huffed a gust of disgusting, rotten breath in his face.

"No no! Mine, mine, mine!" It grabbed him with three of its six arms and he jerked free from one. But by then two more had grabbed him. He struggled with the demon, and he was strong one minute, weak the next, but it never lost its grip. Instead it gasped suddenly and cried, "Empty, empty body!" It sounded like it squealed with delight and Steve was starting to regret this when a blinding light made him screw his eyes shut. The demon shuddered and squealed again, screeching, dropping Steve and covering its face with all six of its arms. He had no idea how the light bothered the thing when it didn't have eyes.

Steve hit the ground and scrambled away from the thing as it sizzled and smoked, writhing in the beam of light. He could hear someone muttering unrecognizable words again and he realized Strange had come back to find him. The demon screeched and scampered away like a rat. Strange fixed his sharp gaze on Steve and said, "I warned you _not_ to interfere."

"Difficult not to."

"That demon recognized you for what you were. A living soul wandering from its empty body. It announced that out loud. You'd better hope nothing else heard it."

Steve chewed on his lip out of habit and glanced back at where the demon had been. "You handled that one easy enough."

Strange scoffed. "It may as well have been a child, compared to the horrors that lay here."

A child. It had Steve in the air. It picked up and held Captain America like he was a kitten. And it was like a child? Steve kept close to Strange after that. No questions asked. He'd be useless to Bucky if his soul or whatever got snuffed out by a demon.

They continued walking down the crowded streets until Strange opened a door. And when they passed through, they were in Steve's old home. The apartment was still empty, in fact, no furniture or anything. He looked over every room thoroughly and came up empty. "He isn't here," Steve muttered, already racking his brain for the next location to search. He looked up at Strange. "We could try the Smithsonian." The Captain America exhibit had been replaced months ago, but there was still a small section on him in the part of the museum dedicated to World War II. Maybe Bucky would go there just to see something familiar in such a bizarre place.  
  
"Alright," Strange said. He closed the door they'd come through, and when he opened it again, Steve was looking out at the museum.

He was startled to find that it was jammed with ghosts. Some wore uniforms he recognized. Civil War veterans, Revolutionary era soldiers. Others looked like Native Americans. Judges and politicians. The list went on and he glanced back at Strange as if to ask if this was all normal. And Strange nodded. "Museums are often full of the dead, searching for this last link between them and the living." It made sense. No one would bat an eye if they heard graveyards were full of wandering spirits. Why should a museum be so different when it was essentially the same thing, a monument to the ones who came before?

It took longer to search this crowd, given the sheer number of spirits present. But still, none of them were Bucky and Steve was running out of ideas until he saw a picture on the museum wall of the city's skyline. The Triskelion was in it. He didn't like the thought it gave him. But even it was better than the hopelessness that came with having run out of places to check. "I have another idea," he managed to say finally. He explained it to Strange and then they were passing through a door.  
  
If he'd had a heart, it'd be pounding, but he steeled himself. He wasn't sure when it happened, but his body stopped fluctuating between small and large, fixed on the latter. Maybe it was his renewed sense of purpose and certainty. Maybe it was his desire to be strong enough to save Bucky, once and for all. Whatever it was, he was happy for it now.

The bank had been closed pending an investigation into the entire company. For decades, an American POW had been held against his will beneath it and tortured on a regular basis. It wasn't the sort of crime that went ignored by the government. Banks got away with a lot, but not this.

The place was eerily silent, especially after coming away from the crowds at the museum. Steve made his way down to the vault, movement becoming more natural even in this disembodied form the longer he spent in it. The vault was emptied of everything, no money, no gold. The vault behind the vault though-

It was dark. Steve heard the sound of something rattling against the stone floor. There was the creak of old leather. The rustle of cloth. And a laugh, one Steve's teeth ground together at the sound of. "Well. This is quite the reunion, hm?"

"Pierce," Steve managed to spit.

The man in question sat casually in the chair Bucky had been tortured in repeatedly, his ankle propped up on his other knee. His elbow was pressed into the arm rest, two fingers supporting the weight of his head at the temple. A bloodstain bloomed across his crisp, pressed shirt. He looked younger than he should've, and Steve hated it because he had to wonder how much of himself Bucky's foggy and abused mind had seen in this man. "I think I know what you came here for," Pierce said. Steve tensed as Pierce's hand dropped down to the dark shape beside his feet. His fingers disappeared into a dark head of hair, brushing through knotted strands affectionately. Like a man and his dog.

"Bucky," Steve practically whispered.

Immediately, Bucky looked up, eyes wide in a way they hadn't been since he first came back to Steve in a fit of desperate confusion. Pierce tightened his grip, yanking Bucky's head back by the hair. Blue eyes darted back down to the floor and Bucky remained quiet. "Soldier, identify this individual."

Bucky refused to look up. But he whispered, "Steve." His left arm started to move, like he might try to reach out.

Pierce jerked back on a length of chain piled in his lap and Bucky's arm was wrenched back with it. Steve started forward with a shout but Strange stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He pulled Steve closer so he could speak in a low voice. "The restraints aren't literal and you can't break them by force," Strange explained. "It's in his head. Make Barnes believe he doesn't belong to Hydra anymore."  
  
Pierce smiled his perfect politician's smile. Like he was helping solve world hunger, instead of going back to what he apparently did best-torture and manipulation. "The mission," Pierce said to Bucky, eyes on Steve. "He was the mission. And you failed. Remember what happens when you fail?"

Bucky tried to nod, but he couldn't with Pierce's fist still wound tightly in his hair. Still his eyes screwed shut in anticipation of whatever pain Pierce was promising him and Steve had had enough.

"Let him go you son of a bitch," Steve snapped. Demons made sense for him to be afraid of. Pierce, less so.

"If I let him go, Rogers, it'll be to gut you like a fish. Understand?"

Steve glanced to Bucky, who gave him nothing. Pierce had to be bluffing, but Steve had no idea what to believe in such a bizarre and unfamiliar setting as this. The whole thing must've been horrifying for Bucky. A complete step back towards zero. After everything Steve had promised him, chief among them being that Hydra would never take him again, here he was, literally in the grip of his old tormentor. As a ghost. Which, to be fair to Steve, he couldn't have begun to see coming, but the principle was the same. He'd failed Bucky. Again.

"Now, I have a proposition. I'd like you to hear it." Pierce loosened his grip and smoothed back Bucky's hair, fingernails tracing over his scalp. Bucky kept his eyes on the floor, utterly subservient. Steve thought he could feel something breaking inside of him. "You can have the Soldier. And I'll take your body."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "You're dead."

"Call it a setback," Pierce said with a shrug. He settled his hands in his lap now, clasped loosely. "I had a lot of important work to do. You interrupted that. I think it's only fair that you give me what I'm asking for. I was even kind enough to keep your friend safe while you came looking for him." Pierce said the word friend with a hint of mockery and distaste.

"Yeah, I'm sure you had both of our best interests in mind when you made that decision."

Pierce smiled. "I can look out for many people at once, Captain. You, on the other hand, can hardly seem to keep up with one." He accentuated the word by patting Bucky on the head. Still Bucky refused to look up. "Seems almost irresponsible of me to leave him with you, actually. What do you think, Soldier? Would you like to stay with a man who abandoned you to death twice now?"

"I never-!" Steve started but Pierce just talked over him.

"What kind of man just runs off while their brother in arms bleeds out in the wilderness? Who counts their own quest for fame and glory higher than the life of their best and oldest friend? He brushed you aside in pursuit of the first pretty face that showed him the smallest hint of interest." Steve thought his teeth might crack from grinding together so hard as he watched Bucky's face meander through a series of increasingly confused and pained expressions. He looked lost, like a little kid caught between two arguing parents, and Steve just wanted to gather him in his arms and never let go. Every time he did, terrible things seemed to happen.   
  
"That's not true, Bucky, none of that is true!" Steve said as soon as he could find it in him to keep his voice from betraying just how much rage was inside him right now. There was so much he wanted to say he could hardly keep his thoughts in order. He had loved Peggy, of course he had, but that didn't mean Bucky suddenly meant nothing to him. It didn't mean his death had no impact on him. It was that very thing that made him realize just what he felt for his friend. But he'd never been able to explain that to Bucky. With the suddenness of his death, Steve thought it meant he never would and he didn't have the words to describe the emptiness that left in him. "I was-I was so lost when you died-"  
"But he didn't die," Pierce said as if it were obvious. "You didn't even look for him. But we did. You're so lucky we found you, Soldier. So lucky Hydra was there to nurse you back to health, to give you a second chance at life, a chance to do great things."

"I was-" Bucky said and Steve's breath caught in his throat. Pierce cocked his head, as if he was deigning to entertain a whimsical tale, condescending smile plastered all over his face. "I was going to change the world." He whispered it, like it was more for himself now than anyone else.

"You did, Soldier. You did just that. But we still have more work to do."

"The mission-"

"The one you failed?" Pierce reminded him and Steve glanced back at Strange, wondering how much of this they had to entertain. Strange's eyes weren't on Pierce though, scanning their surroundings carefully. "You left your last mission unfinished." Bucky flinched like he'd been struck. "You have a chance to make up for your mistake."

"He isn't here alone," Strange muttered from behind Steve. "There are low-level spells around the perimeter of the room. Someone's hiding Barnes' from the demon but it won't last. Move the conversation towards that."

Steve licked his lips as he thought of how to do so. It was hard to focus on anything other than all the words screaming to the forefront of his mind. Finally he just said because he'd never been a subtle person, "Cut the bullshit. We both know what's after Bucky." Pierce raised an eyebrow, as if allowing himself to be impressed with Steve for figuring it out. "What was the demon for? Why Bucky?"

Pierce shrugged. "No one wants to volunteer for something like that. But the Soldier..." Bucky glanced up at Pierce and Steve thought he might be sick with the way his friend searched for something kind in Pierce's tone and face. It was like a starved man digging through a landfill for anything remotely edible, no matter how maggot-ridden and spoiled. Didn't he see Steve? Didn't he know how much he was genuinely cared for? Or had Steve been too tangled up in his own doubts and concerns to make it clear enough for Bucky to understand? "Well. You're quite obedient, aren't you? For the most part." Bucky's face fell to an expression of pure shame, like if he'd just tried hard enough he really could be perfect enough for the people who'd abused him for decades. Like it was his own fault for how they treated him.   
  
"Hydra's ultimate goal has always been to instill order in this world. What better way to show our might than by breaking both man and god to our will? By exerting control over primordial chaos itself?" Steve's eyes searched immediately for the voice. Bucky's eyes flew wide and petrified and he froze like maybe if he kept from moving, no one would see him. Then Steve saw movement from the shadows of the room.   
  
It was Pohlmann. Less horrifying than he'd appeared in Bucky's memories, but still bringing an air of dread into the room with him. He grinned his bare-toothed grin, coming to a stop beside the chair. He dropped an elbow into it for support.   
  
And it was Strange who spoke first this time. "The perimeter you set up is waning quick. We're all in a very bad place once it goes. Give us Barnes and you avoid bringing the wrath of something stronger than any of us down on your heads."  
  
"You don't seem to understand what leverage is, Doctor Strange," Pierce said nonchalantly. "When you have something that a powerful individual wants, it makes you-"  
  
"A demon is not a diplomat you can bribe into making the decisions you want," Strange spat back, apparently irritated with the assumption. "It's going to destroy you and take what it's after."  
  
"That is where you are wrong, doctor," Pohlmann said. "As I am the one who bound the creature to the Soldier, so too can I rescind my offer. It will do as we demand-supply us with empty, living vessels, in exchange for Barnes. You two will do quite well for our purposes."  
  
Strange shook his head, expression set in disbelief and it was kind of refreshing for Steve that he seemed to think someone else was the idiot for a change. "Your arrogance is astounding but I'm not going to suffer the consequences for it. Neither are they."  
  
"Perhaps you are unfamiliar with what real sorcery is capable of," Pohlmann mocked. "It is not parlor tricks like astral projection. I will show you the true power of magic."  
  
Strange took a breath. Then he turned to Steve. "I'm about to do something that none of us are going to enjoy. Get Barnes and be ready to run."  
  
"What? Is that really-"  
  
"Just do it, Rogers," Strange hissed back before stepping away from him.  
  
Steve looked at Bucky, who seemed oblivious to what was going on. Lost in his thoughts and God only knew how horrible they must've been right now. "Bucky," Steve said, putting every ounce of what he felt into that word in the hopes that it'd be understood. Bucky looked up at him, and something passed over his face. Realization, Steve thought.   
  
Then he cringed and it was like something inside him had broken. Something that let him, the real him and not Pierce's weapon, come surging back to reality. "Steve. Steve?!" He scrambled to his feet and Pierce stood abruptly and jerked hard on the chain in his hand.  
  
Bucky fell back like he weighed nothing. Pierce and Bucky locked eyes and the latter looked away nearly immediately. "You know where you belong, Soldier." Pierce looked first at Steve, then to Strange, a warning in his steely gaze. "I'm not sure what you're trying to pull, but you may as well accept-"  
  
"Bucky," Steve said. "I need you to pay attention to me. Can you do that? Ignore them, ignore everything else, just listen-"  
  
"Pohlmann. Shut him up," Pierce said with a wave of his hand, as if Steve were some minor nuisance. But Bucky was watching him. That's all Steve needed to make this work.  
  
"Bucky, I know this is terrifying. It is for me too and-"   
  
Steve had to pause to deal with Pohlmann because suddenly his arms were inhuman again, all blades and claws. Steve caught him by the pair of his right arms and struggling to hold them back. "I know this has been really hard for you!" Steve spat out as he struggled to twist Pohlmann's arms into a compromising position behind his back. But their bodies weren't real. No muscles to strain, no tendons to push to their limits. He shoved Pohlmann away with a grunt instead. "But you're stronger than you think. You aren't anybody's to order around!" Pohlmann took a swing with the serrated blade, snarling as he did. Steve ducked back. "You're so much more than that! Remember? You have a home to go back to, people who care about you-" Steve let out a wild yell as he dashed at Pohlmann, going low and tackling him down around the waist.  
  
"What are you doing?" Pierce snapped. "Kill him!"  
  
"No," Bucky muttered.  
  
Pohlmann struggled, swiping wildly with the robotic limbs. Steve wrestled with them, trying to keep them down. He had no idea what would happen to him if he got hurt here but wasn't interested in finding out. "You don't belong to them anymore! You don't belong to anybody! You're not the Winter Soldier! You're not-"  
  
Pierce jerked Bucky back by the hair to growl into his ear, "You may not be the Winter Soldier, but you aren't James Barnes, either. Whatever you think you are now, it's not who you used to be and Rogers despises you for it-"  
  
"No!" Steve slammed Pohlmann's arms down and looked up. "Maybe you aren't who you used to be, but that's not the goal, Bucky! It never has been! So what if you don't like baseball or-or if our music apps only have a handful of the same albums on them!" Pohlmann managed to kick him in the stomach but Steve refused to let his breath escape him and somehow it worked. "It's not your responsibility to be what anybody else wants you to be! You are who you are and that's perfect!"  
  
Bucky stared at him as if in a daze but mouthed the word to himself, as if he could hardly remember what it meant.   
  
"Who you are-" Steve struggled again with keeping those blades from biting into his skin. He had no idea what would happen to him if they did. "You're a kind person. So kind. And-and curious about everything, so interested in learning new things and your enthusiasm makes me want to learn right alongside you!" He huffed out a breath as he jerked Pohlmann's arms forward, then down, then shoved him away. "Everyone changes Bucky. There's nothing wrong with that!"  
  
"Do not listen to that garbage-" Pierce started.  
  
"I won't," Bucky said, barely a whisper. Steve felt his heart plummet and his grip weakened enough for Pohlmann to yank his arms free. He kicked Steve away, scrambling to his feet.   
  
"Good," Pierce said. "That's-"  
  
But Bucky cut him off. "You misunderstood me," Bucky said. His voice wasn't strong. In fact, he sounded terrified. But he didn't stop. "But you never listened to me."  
  
"Soldier-"  
  
"That's not my name," Bucky said and he stood up, looking Pierce in the eye. Forcing himself to stand tall. Steve's chest surged with pride and hope and love and every good thing he could name. "And you don't care about me. You never did and I only let myself believe it to keep from going crazy-"  
  
"We're the only ones who-"  
  
"I told myself I mattered to you because I wanted to matter to _somebody_ so badly," Bucky said, like he was realizing the words only after he spoke them. "And it's-I don't have to hold out for table scraps anymore. I have real friends. People who care about me, not just what I can do for them."  
  
"You don't know what you're saying-"  
  
Bucky shook his head and turned away. His eyes found Steve and he looked exhausted, suddenly. Like he was hurting but knew it was a necessary step towards getting better. "Steve. I want to go home."  
  
Steve nodded. "Me too, Bucky." He held out a hand and waved him on. Bucky took a step towards him. The chain between him and Pierce was dismantled, somehow, just broken links in a pair of white-knuckled hands.   
  
Pierce grabbed for Bucky, face contorted in rage. Steve tried to move fast enough to stop him, but he didn't have to. Bucky shoved him away before drawing his arms back to himself immediately, like he'd touched a hot burner on a stove. His eyes were a little wild as he shouted, "No!" And then he took a breath, stepping backwards towards Steve. "I don't belong to you. Now or ever again. Go away."  
  
This whole mess almost felt worth it to see the expression of disbelief Pierce wore now. The shock that he had failed. That the Winter Soldier was well and truly dead now, and he couldn't manipulate him back to life. "You don't know what you're doing," Pierce said.   
  
Bucky ignored him completely, eyes locked on Steve.   
  
"You think he won't get tired of you?" Pierce called after him. Steve saw Bucky's jaw clench but he didn't look back. "You're a novelty, a new _pet._ Something to coddle and love at first, but he'll grow sick of you. See you for the burden that you are, more trouble than you're worth." Bucky's eyes looked pained. He'd mustered up the willpower it'd taken to tell Pierce off, but Steve couldn't blame him for not having enough left to completely ignore him.   
  
Instead of arguing with Pierce, instead of putting Bucky back into a fight he didn't have the strength to deal with, Steve looked at him and said, "It's going to be okay. I promise." He held out a hand and Bucky stared for just a second before he took it.  
  
Pierce took a breath as if he was ready to argue further. But something interrupted. Steve didn't know that he had the words to describe the sound. It was somehow like the thunder of waves against a rocky shore and the shrieking of thousands of terrified voices all at once. His blood-if he had any in this ghost realm-ran cold. Everyone seemed to freeze momentarily, save for Strange who was dashing back from wherever he'd gone. "Now is when we run," he said quickly.  
  
"Let her come!" Pohlmann shouted to the air, throwing his arms wide. "I fear nothing in this world or any other!"  
  
Whatever was coming sounded closer, seeming to permeate the air around them like a physical presence. Pierce was yelling something but Steve couldn't hear it over all the noise. Steve looked over his shoulder and saw frigid, blue water bursting into the room from whatever cracks it could find in the wall. He tried to steady his own thoughts, to block out awful memories of a ship sinking beneath Arctic waters, the cold pressing in from all sides-  
  
Bucky's fingers squeezed tight on his wrist, and they were warm and real. Realer even than Doctor Strange's touch on his shoulder from before. Bucky was here. Not just in spirit. And Steve had to focus and get him back home. "That's it," Bucky whispered, staring back at the thundering wall of water.   
  
"Don't I know it," Strange muttered to himself, busy with drawing out one of his golden circles in the air.  
  
"The demon is made of water?" Steve asked, unable to piece this together.   
  
"Go," Strange snapped, shoving Steve towards the portal. It lead back to the grassy fields around the Avengers facility. Steve didn't hesitate, pulling Bucky through with him. Strange followed and with a flick of his wrist, the portal was closed.   
  
It wasn't more than a few seconds later that the horrible noise from the vault could be heard again. "Jesus it's here too?" Steve shouted.  
  
"If I can do it, it can," Strange answered. "Move! Get back to your body! Take Barnes with you!"  
  
Without arguing, they ran, bursting back into the facility. They passed the pacing form of someone Steve couldn't see. He thought it was Peter, given the shorter stature. Whoever it was, they didn't even notice. The walls seemed to shake, the ground beneath their feet rattling. Again, water burst from the seams of the building, spilling cold over their feet. The roar of it was deafening and he tried to focus on the goal, to block out everything else.   
  
The water was up to their knees now as they shuffled as quickly as they could towards the bathroom. More stuff was swiping and grabbing at them however it could-things that looked like seaweed, eels, snakes, squid arms. Still they kept moving, untangling each other when necessary, shouting to be heard over the churning water and the horrible, disembodied screams that followed it.   
  
Finally, Steve stumbled on the threshold of the bathroom. He could see the vague shapes of Sam and Tony sitting by the tub. Saw the dim glow of his own corpse in the water.   
  
Saw something else, embedded in the wall over the tub, waiting like a vulture. Steve tightened his grip on Bucky's arm, knowing all at once what it was, what it wanted, what it couldn't have. At first, Steve could hardly make any sense of what he was seeing. It was like the wall itself had blackened, started boiling with tar, but then his eyes made out the slithering shapes. Some were small as worms, ranging all the way up in size to something as big around as an anaconda. They all moved constantly, slithering out of the wall or burrowing back into it. Among all the twisting and writhing, Steve could barely make out some other shape. He thought he saw eyes, glittering yellow in the inky blue-blackness. A limb stretched out from the writhing mass, long and scaley, claws stretching outward. It should have been utterly bizarre, uterrly horrifying, to lock eyes with a literal demon. But now that Steve stood here, looking it in the face, he couldn't bring himself to be afraid. He simply refused to let it have any more power over them than it already did. Bucky needed that from him, so what else could he do but give it?  
  
With his hand on Bucky's wrist, he dove for his body and forced himself to believe he'd make it there first.

 


	13. Chapter 13

There was basically no way for any of them to tell what was happening, even from right next to the tub. It was weird as hell seeing Steve just sprawled out in water that'd suddenly become so dark you couldn't see the bottom of. It was also weird as hell to see Strange sitting perfectly still beside it despite the cross-legged and upright position he was in. Sam refused to let himself start pacing like Tony had, sure it'd only end up making him more nervous. Natasha had kindly rounded all the spectators up from the doorway, telling them it might be less distracting if they weren't hovering there. At first Sam was not a fan of that because hell if he wanted to do this alone. But then he remembered Strange warning them to not cross the threshold into the bathroom. Who knew what could go wrong if one of them did, by accident or on purpose? Maybe Natasha thought the likelihood of that happening was too high. Maybe she genuinely did think they'd be more of a hindrance than a help. Either way, Sam supposed it worked in keeping him solely focused on Tony and Steve, since there was no one else to really pay attention to.

"Ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous," Tony muttered for about the hundredth time. "Demons. Seances. What is even going on?"

"Strange said to be ready to act," Sam said, trying to keep Tony from falling into a full-blown panic attack. Whether he'd admit it or not, Tony was petrified of all of this. Not just because it was some absurd and at times horrifying shit. Not just because it wasn't something he could study and prod with his computers and robots. No, it was the same reason Sam had to keep taking deep and calming breaths of his own. Steve was laying there, motionless and pale in that tub, hardly breathing, completely corpselike, and they had been expressly forbidden from touching him or trying to make sure he was okay. They had to take the word of a stranger who claimed to be a sorcerer and force themselves to accept that this would all turn out for the best. Sam thought, all things considered, Tony was handling it pretty well.

"Be ready? Ready for what? How are we supposed to know what to do and when to do it? We don't know a thing about any of this!" Tony nearly snapped.

"Just take a breath, man," Sam advised. There was another factor in all of this, and that was the demon. Strange had said it would do whatever it could to cause them grief, to get them stressed and riled up and pissed at each other, and he could definitely feel that. The tension in the air, that heaviness. He was using every destressing method he could think of to try to keep from succumbing to it.

Maybe Tony was too, because he did take that breath instead of arguing. He paced a little more before stopping and standing by the tub. Sam didn't look up but could see him out of the corner of his eye, studying Steve's face. "He looks dead," Tony muttered.

"Strange said he's not."

"Yeah but I-" Tony cut himself off with a huff, shook his head, and started pacing again. Sam didn't pressure him to keep talking. That didn't always make things better, contrary to popular belief. There was a time and a place to try to get someone to unload, and this was definitely neither.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway. There was suddenly a noise. They both went still, hardly even breathing as they searched for the source of it. The water had moved. Steve had twitched.

"Did he-" Tony asked.

"Yeah I saw him move," Sam said, a little relief in his voice. But then he thought, was this something he should've been relieved about? Or did it mean something horrible was about to happen?

Steve twitched again, a flick of his wrist. A muscle in his face. Then his leg jerked suddenly, sloshing the dark, violet water. Sam shot up to his knees, hands at the ready, but he wasn't sure for what. Tony dropped beside him. "What? What now?" Tony demanded.

Sam shook his head desperately. It wasn't that he had a problem taking the lead normally but this was far from a normal situation and he had no idea what the right answer was. "I don't know, man, Strange said we'd know when to act."

"Great, vague and mystical bullshit, my favorite," Tony spat, hands fluttering to rest briefly on the edge of the tub before pulling away again, uncertain.

The only thing he could think of was to try to keep their heads on straight. To not let panic get in the way no matter how tempting it was. "Just keep watching. I'm sure-"

There was an awful, scraping kind of noise and they both shot back up to their feet. It'd come from-

"How is that possible," Tony said more than asked. There was a hand, sliding up the side of the tub. Metal fingers scraping against porcelain.

"Think that's our sign," Sam said. It was so far as he was concerned, anyway. He moved to grab Bucky by the wrist, but then, his hand was gone with another ear-piercing screech, fingers leaving gouges in the tub before disappearing back beneath the murky waters.

"Fuck," Tony hissed.

Steve jerked again, legs kicking in the water. All at once, Steve started to sink lower as if something was pulling him under, and Sam shouted reflexively, "Not today Satan!" Without thinking, he threw himself forward, yanking Steve by the arm. Steve gasped like he'd been drowning, eyes flying open.

"Let me go!" he choked out.

"No man, it's us!" Sam tried to tell him. He couldn't be sure, but he had to guess waking up from astral projection for the first time in your life caused a little disorientation.

"Bucky! I have to-" Steve pushed and pulled, trying to get out of Sam and Tony's grip.

"Steve, don't!" Tony shouted, trying to keep a hold on him. But then he was gone, somehow disappearing deeper into a tub that should've only gone up to his shins when at its fullest. "God damn it!" Tony stood and slammed a foot into the tub, sinking his fingers into his hair and pulling. He took a few steps before turning back and sinking to his knees again, shoving his hands back into the water.

Sam blinked away the shock and joined him. "This is so damned weird," Sam said finally.

"These are the last two frozen supersoldiers I ever bring into my home, I'm promising you that now," Tony said, hands searching the water for anything. Namely the six foot four body of Captain America which should've been impossible to lose in a standard bath tub. But here they were.

Sam was starting to feel an edge of desperation as his hands found nothing, not even what should've been the bottom of the tub. Steve could hold his breath for a long time, but that didn't make him feel any better about all of this. How deep did the water go? _Where_ did it go? Was Sam reaching into the after life or some equally terrifying place? He clenched his jaw and refused to be frightened of that. Not when Steve might need help finding his way back up to the surface, up to reality.  
  
His persistence paid off. He felt something in the water and he shouted, "Tony, here!" Hair, it was somebody's hair. And then a hand on his forearm! Strong fingers, somebody pulling-

"Got him, got him!" Tony said, pulling with Sam. Steve's head broke the water first and he threw it back, gasping for a breath. Then Bucky came next, eyes wild as he sputtered and-

"Holy shit!" Sam shouted, jerking on Steve's arm. Something shot up out of the water, wrapping itself around Bucky's throat.

"No!" Bucky all but shrieked, pulling at the black, slimy thing. It curled around his neck once, the end of it settling at the base of his skull. "No please don't let it-"

"Not gonna," Steve kept saying, jerking away from Sam and Tony's grip to take Bucky in both arms. Another slimy snake thing slithered up, this one wrapping around Bucky's shoulder. Bucky grabbed Steve's shirt in his right hand, knuckles gone white as he begged for them to not let him go. Tony pulled at the thing, Sam tried to keep a grip on Steve to get them out of the tub, but nothing seemed to be working.

A fifth hand rose up out of the water then and Sam felt suddenly frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare. It was black, like ink, a gangly, rough limb covered in darkly glittering scales. The wrist met a hand of abnormally long, slender fingers, each tipped in black, thick claws, webbing between the fingers. The hand slid up Bucky's throat before settling over the lower half of his upturned face, muffling his screams.

"By the Vishanti-"

Sam jerked out of his stupor at the sound of Strange's voice behind them. He stood there, hands glowing, looking like ten times the action hero any of them did at the moment. The water seemed to boil as he spoke but there was no heat or steam coming off of it. Something shrieked beneath the surface. Or maybe a few dozen somethings. It was hard to tell through the muffling effect of the water. Steve's arms tensed and he refused to let go of Bucky. The first eel snapped back, smacking Steve in the face as it went. Then the second. And finally that horrible fucking claw, raking over Bucky's cheek before it disappeared back beneath the water. Steve jerked Bucky closer, if it was possible, and the water seemed lighter and lighter until they could all see the bottom of the tub again.

Pale violet water sloshed over the top, displaced by the suddenly smaller container. Tony had fallen back on his ass and hadn't moved since Strange started talking, eyes wide as he stared at the tub. Sam had sunk down on his knees, trying to make his panicking mind accept that Steve and Bucky were back and in one piece. Steve coughed, one hand balled up in the back of Bucky's shirt, the other clutching at his hair, refusing to let him go. Bucky seemed okay with that, shoving his face in the crook of Steve's neck like a terrified kid. For a minute, they all caught their breath, trying to come to terms with what just happened. Except for Strange, who dunked his hand in the water. He tasted it before spitting it back out. Normally Sam would've thought to share his disgust at that kind of thing with the rest of the room but this was far from a normal situation. Strange didn't seem to care about the hygiene issue and hummed like he'd seen something mildly interesting. "I think I learned enough."  
  
He turned away towards the door, running a foot through the line of salt there. The rest of them were still busy catching their breath, refamiliarizing themselves with reality, and trying not to have panic attacks. Strange glanced back over his shoulder at them. "You guys coming?"  
  
Tony made some inarticulate noise. Sam forced himself to stand up and find some towels. The motion was so mundane, something he'd done just about every day of his life. This was just the first time he'd done it after a wizard and his best friend astral projected into the after life, picking up a hitch hiker along the way.  
  
He chucked the towels at the floor next to the tub where Bucky and Steve could reach them and he laughed.

* * *

"Okay, here's what I got," Strange said, seemingly with renewed vigor. They'd had just enough time for Steve and Bucky to grab a fresh set of clothes, for Strange to run off through one of his portals to God knew where and come back, and for Sam and Tony to do their best to explain what the hell they'd witnessed in the bathroom to the rest of the gang. It was maybe five or ten minutes. Strange hadn't given them much of a break and Sam could see why. They had some momentum going. Plus they'd probably pissed off the demon, like a lot. So if Sam had to guess, it was best to get rid of it as soon as they could. If Strange had the tools for that now, Sam didn't want a break. He wanted this to be over. Yeah for Bucky's sake, of course, but also it just wasn't healthy to live in a high stress environment like this and he didn't want his first grey hairs showing up because of something so damn ridiculous. "We couldn't get a name because there was a whole...thing going on with the confrontation of deep-seated psychological issues but that's not the relevant part."  
  
"Ah, really? We're into that kind of drama here," Sam said, giving a side-eye to Bucky. He was too busy scrubbing at his hair with a towel to notice. Leave it to him to find another level of hell to explore while possessed by a demon. Plus if he'd whooped one of his tormentors asses in the afterlife, well, Sam was going to need a play-by-play after this was all said and done.  
  
Strange continued without missing a beat. "But I did get some very useful information. Pohlmann gave away a lot."  
  
Steve made a confused face. "Are you sure? He just seemed to be going on about how great he was." He hung his towel off the chair before settling back.  
  
Strange looked like he was about to respond with a snarky comeback but to Sam's surprise, he stopped himself. "He used the term 'primordial chaos'. That's more useful than you might think in narrowing down the time frame in which humanity first interacted with this demon."  
  
"What's it mean?" Bucky asked. He looked dead tired but also somehow like a weight had come off his shoulders, which Sam was itching to ask about because the demon thing had _not_ been dealt with. In fact, the evidence of that was on his face in the four parallel gashes on his cheek that were still in the process of healing.  
  
"In our most ancient mythologies, primordial chaos was the way we referred to the state of a pre-creation world. Often in these stories, all the fundamental elements of the world were there, but formless in the void until some actor, usually the first god or gods, did something to craft them into the world we know now."  
  
"Okay, but I thought you said religion didn't have anything to do with all this," Sam said, trying to follow Strange's logic. Which was hard as hell because this was magic they were talking about and maybe it didn't exactly need logic.   
  
"It does and it doesn't," Strange conceded, tilting his head from side to side. "Humanity in its infancy took natural phenomenon it didn't understand and turned it into their religions. Sometimes those natural phenomenon were, in fact, supernatural entities, including demons. Said demons took a place in ancient societies' pantheons. So these ancient myths are very important clues to the nature of the supernatural. In this instance, the reference to primordial chaos lets me know that whatever demon we're dealing with is an old one. Very, very old, from our perspective."  
  
"So we know it's old. You said before that demons are older than humanity. How does that help?" Tony asked. He was eyeing the big ass book in Strange's hands that had yet to be opened by the sorcerer in question. Sam refused to be curious. His mom warned him to never fool around with ouija boards at sleepovers so hell if he was about to start poking around in what might be a magical book about demons.  
  
"Yes, demonkind is older than humanity. But that doesn't mean every demon was checking in on us from the beginning of our existence. Besides, there are other important clues here. Pohlmann called the demon a 'she'. And there was salt in the tub."  
  
"You were putting salt all over the place," Tony said with a shrug. It was plainly the scientist in him trying to account for the simplest explanation before moving onto the more complicated stuff. "Maybe you got some in the water."  
  
"I think I'd know if I got some in the tub," Strange answered flatly. "And besides, the level of salinity couldn't have come from me accidentally sprinkling a little salt in there when I didn't mean to. It was sea water." Here he looked at Steve and Bucky. "You two can confirm that for us, right?"  
  
Steve looked thoughtful before he responded, "I guess I didn't notice because of everything going on. But it was definitely fresh water when I got in, and not when I got out."  
  
"It smelled like the sea," Bucky added. Bucky could smell when Sam opened a package of Oreos in the privacy of his bedroom so Sam sure as hell trusted him on olfactory matters.  
  
"So, with all this in mind." Strange set the heavy book onto the table. It looked very old, and battered, with weirdly thick pages and a leather bound cover. "Our research brings us to a few options because humanity has this habit of mingling cultures and languages. That makes my job a little more difficult but that's okay."  
  
"What is that?" Clint asked from where he leaned against the wall, fiddling with one of his bows. Sam didn't blame him for wanting to stay armed after everything that had happened here but he also had the feeling conventional weapons didn't mean shit in this fight.  
  
"Basically an encyclopedia of demons," Strange answered, eyes never leaving the book as he flipped through the pages. "If encyclopedias were bound in and written on human skin."  
  
There were a few hisses and uncomfortable noises as everyone backed away from the book a little bit. No one was trying very hard to look on the pages anymore.   
  
"So we have Calypso, thought by humans to be a sea goddess. But I'm not so sure it's her, because she's a little young and has never been associated with primordial chaos," Strange said. He glanced up at Bucky for a moment, who looked back. Strange seemed to be waiting for a moment before shrugging and looking back down at the book. "And we've got Eurynome, an Oceanid first mentioned in Greek myths by Homer in the Iliad." Again he looked up at Bucky, as if waiting for something. "But I guess she's also a little young on the cosmic scale of things..." He flipped a few more pages and then stopped. "And my personal least favorite and the one I'm hoping isn't right so it almost certainly will be. Tiamat, goddess-"  
  
Bucky started convulsing and vomiting into his towel, and Sam jerked away before any of it could get on him.   
  
"Yep, there it is," Strange muttered unhappily, smacking the book closed.   
  
"Man, if you knew that was going to happen, couldn't you have warned us?" Sam snapped, understanding now why Strange kept glancing at Bucky.  
  
"Not-" Bucky managed to grit out. He threw up but it looked less like vomit and more like water and Sam hated that it even smelled a little bit like the ocean. So now any time he went to the beach he was going to have to remember this and it'd ruin his whole day. "Enjoying-" He shook so hard Steve had to hold him in place before he fell out of his seat. "This."   
  
"Yeah, neither is she," Strange said. "She's pissed I found out who she is but she's probably a little weak from everything that just went on." He gestured back to the bathroom. "Give it a minute."  
  
"Okay so you have it's name now," Tony pressed on quickly, raising his voice a little to be heard over the gross noises Bucky was making. "How do you send her packing?"  
  
"Well, here's the thing..." Strange said and no one liked that tone.   
  
"Don't you dare tell me we have sacrifice a goat or a virgin or something," Sam warned.   
  
"Yeah, this team needs Captain America," Natasha said from her place beside Clint. Clint snickered and low-fives were exchanged.   
  
"Bold words from someone whose room shares a wall with mine," Steve answered back easily.  
  
"God can we not go there," Tony said. "The wizard was making a point here." He gestured back almost desperately at Strange, for once wanting to hear what he had to say.   
  
"Thank you," Strange said, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up at them, trying to reign in his agitation. "It can be ended without any violence," Strange said. "No blood sacrifices." Sam didn't like the way he emphasized blood, like there was still a risk of some other kind of sacrifice.

"Well, I think Steve prefers the punching, but give us what you got, Gandalf," Tony said.

"Demons are governed by the laws of their dimensions. It's just their laws are weirder. So maybe in our dimension, two and two is always going to be four. In their dimension, their name is always going to be a binding agent." Sam held back questions on whether or not baby name books were particularly coveted items in the demon world, figuring they should probably get through all this as quick as possible. "We've got its name, so now we can use that against it. We do that by challenging its claim on Barnes."

"Challenge it how?" Natasha asked. If anyone was coming up with worst-case scenarios of what that meant, it was her. It was part of why Sam liked her so much. She was ready for every damn thing you could think of and every damn thing you couldn't.

"A game of wits."

There was a silence, because, what. Sam had been expecting a big confrontation. Gladiators battling to the death kind of shit. Even when Strange said it wouldn't be a violent process, he still defaulted to picturing a fight. "Is it-I mean, do we get to pick which game?" Scott asked tentatively. Then he shrugged and puffed out his chest a little. "It's just, I'm pretty good at Stratego."

Another brief silence until Bucky burst out into uncontrollable, one might even say hysterical, laughter. "You guys promise me you'll put that on my Wikipedia page when I die. How I lost my life because of a game of Stratego with a demon gone wrong."  
  
"Aw, Bucky, no," Clint said. He reached out and patted Bucky on the shoulder. "You'll be updating your own Wikipedia page for many years to come."

"I said I was good," Scott protested quietly.

"We don't pick the game," Strange continued, apparently as unimpressed with Scott's board game prowess as the rest of the group. "It is a traditional Stygian duel, completely oral in nature."  
  
"I heard that," Sam said almost automatically, nudging a snickering Clint in the ribs with his elbow.  
  
"You two are sick," Natasha said, also almost automatically.  
  
"Oh so your sex jokes are okay but ours are sick?" Sam argued.  
  
"Mine was much more tasteful than making implications about demonic fellatio," Natasha responded, studying her fingernails.

"How do you play?" Steve asked, apparently the only one focused on fixing all this. Or maybe he didn't want the demon oral sex joke somehow crossing over with the Captain America the virgin joke.

"It's limited to two players. The challenger begins with a statement. For instance, 'I am a mouse, grain-eating, larder-robbing.' The challenged returns with another statement, describing something that could successfully combat or destroy the challenger's statement. It goes back and forth, until no possible response can be made."

"Seems simple enough," Peter said. Sam forgot he was even there. Maybe because the conversation hadn't been kept age appropriate at all.

Clint shrugged. "Yeah, I don't get it. Why not just go right to saying you're an atom bomb? There's no coming back from that."

"Not exactly," Tony said easily. "There are laser-guided anti-aircraft defense systems. Or have somebody disarm the bomb."

"Fine, then go right to black hole," Sam tried. "Nothing kills that, right?"

"Entropy," Tony said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Well, damn."

Natasha shook her head. "This seems risky. I'm going to guess it's one of those things that looks simple at first and turns out to be impossible."

Strange shook his head and Sam could at least appreciate his honesty. "I won't downplay the risk involved. But if we won, the demon would be obligated to surrender its claim on Barnes."

"And if we lose?" Steve asked.

"Then the demon would retain ownership of Barnes, and gain power over whoever challenged it."

"This isn't worth it," Bucky muttered.

"It's your life, it's worth it to me," Steve said fiercely, possibly the only way he knew how to say things. He shifted determined eyes to Strange. "I'll do it."

"Come on Steve," Sam said because somebody had to talk sense into the giant blond meatball. "There's got to be another way. And look, I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but..." He appealed to everyone else to back him up here because they knew what he was getting at and probably had a better way of wording it than he did right now.

"You'd be the shittiest possible choice for this game," Bucky supplied, apparently uninterested in putting it nicely. "You are the definition of leaping without looking. It'd be a disaster."  
  
"No I'm not," Steve protested.  
  
Bucky put on a mocking voice as he said, "Hey guys, I've been rejected from the army a million times. Time to donate my body to risky science experiments."  
  
"That's not-"  
  
"Oh hey again guys, I've never won a fight in my life, time for me to cross into a literal war zone and break into a Nazi prison," Bucky continued.  
  
"And it wor-" Steve tried but Bucky kept going.  
  
"Shit you guys, I'm piloting an airplane full of nukes which is definitely something I'm trained to do except I'm not and that's why I had to crash it into a glacier instead of landing it like a normal person who isn't a melodramatic asshole all the time."  
  
There was a pause then, Steve's brows raised but his eyes focused on his folded hands on the table. Natasha was conspicuously rubbing at her mouth with one hand. Sam tried not to break the silence with an obnoxious laugh. "Are you done?" Steve asked.  
  
Bucky looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he sat back and nodded.

Steve's nostrils flared when he inhaled but in an effort not to confirm Bucky's hotheaded characterization of him, he calmly said, "Point taken. But if not me, then who?"

"Strange seems like he has a handle on this kind of thing," Tony suggested.

"I can't participate. You're going to need a conductor. That's me."

"Yeah, of course," Steve muttered.

"Tony should do it," Natasha said.

"Ha."

"You should," she said again. "You think fastest. Most completely. And you're easily the most knowledgeable person here."

Tony hummed and stroked his chin, clearly enjoying the litany of compliments. "Continue."

"Don't let it get to your head, Stark," she said. "You'll need to keep it clear if you're going to win."

"Can't win if you don't play," Tony said and Sam knew why he'd be so resistant to taking a chance like this for Bucky. Hell if he was going to risk his own immortal soul for a guy he didn't even like all that much. That wasn't even getting into the whole thing where Bucky had killed his parents. It seemed almost cruel, really, but Sam saw Natasha's rationale. If anyone here was going to win a game like this, it'd be Tony.

"You guys can't ask him to do something like this," Bucky said. And honestly, sometimes Sam thought it was great that he and Steve had found each other again. But sometimes, like now, Sam thought that they just fed each others' worst impulses to be more self-sacrificing than the other and it made him want to crack their skulls together.

"And we can't just abandon you to that thing!" Steve said.   
  
"But you can't force people to do things!" Bucky yelled and that's when the reason for his vehement resistance to this plan locked into place for Sam. If he forced Tony to do something he didn't want, how was he any better than the people who abused him? Not to mention all his initial guilt over what he'd done to Tony's parents. "It's wrong, and you said so yourself."  
  
Steve looked like he'd just been punched in the gut and was struggling to come up with a counterargument. And really, Bucky was just plain right. Not that Sam liked admitting to that in any arena. But this one particularly sucked because it wasn't his idea of a fun afternoon, watching two of his friends try to come to terms with the fact that they might lose each other all over again. Sam glanced over at Tony, making sure his face was passive as he did so. He wasn't going to put any more pressure on him than there already would be.  
  
And Tony's face made Sam want to go watch puppy videos for about an hour straight. Of course having a hyperactive genius brain meant you could probably see every argument for and against being obligated to help a guy who murdered your family. Sam knew Tony had somewhat come to terms with that but really, was that a filter anyone could really remove from their perception of a person, even if they tried? Tony said nothing, still clearly debating it all in his head.  
  
So Steve took in a breath, looked at Strange and said, "Tell the god damned thing I'll play the game."

Bucky punched Steve on the shoulder. "Don't be so stupid Steve!"

Steve snapped right back, "How can I be when you're insisting on taking all the stupid with you, right to the literal bowels of Hell!"

"You're both stupid," Tony said finally, eyes darting between the pair of super soldier idiots ready to beat each other half to death over who cared about who more. "Everyone in this room is stupid except me. Which is why I'm the right choice."  
  
"I only agree with like, two-thirds of that assessment, just so you know," Sam put in.   
  
"Tony you shouldn't-" Bucky started to mumble but he couldn't argue all that well with him. He had a hard time talking back to Tony when it came to anything serious.  
  
"Yes, Barnes, I should," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "I saw what happened to America's most prolific intelligence agency the last time you made Cap sad. I can't be complicit in the downfall of the papacy and the entire Catholic church next." Steve blew out a breath like Tony wasn't a hundred percent right about Steve being the most dramatic person any of them knew.   
  
"I'm going to give you some time to think about it," Strange said. "A few hours, while I get the place prepared. If you haven't changed your mind, then we'll proceed. Be sure of your decision." With that, Strange walked away, leaving the rest of them to either encourage Tony or remind him this wasn't his responsibility.  
  
Interestingly enough, only Bucky fell in the latter camp. "Don't do this," he said immediately, looking Tony square in the eye no matter how uncomfortable it made him.  
  
Tony sighed.   
  
"It's his decision, James," Natasha said quietly.   
  
"Not if everybody put him on the spot and pressured him into it," Bucky argued vehemently, hands waving at the people around him. "That's the same as making him do it, and he doesn't want to!"  
  
"Don't tell me what I do and don't want," Tony cut in, wagging a finger in Bucky's direction. Bucky actually flinched back, more from Tony's words than his gesture. At that Tony blew a breath through his lips and said in a more neutral tone, "The right thing to do is always the right thing to do, whether we want to do it or not. You don't...deserve to be possessed by a demon. So it's my moral obligation to help undo that if I can, right?"  
  
Bucky frowned and shook his head slowly. "No."  
  
"Bucky-" Steve started, wiping at his face.   
  
"But it's-" Bucky looked overwhelmed and Sam couldn't decide about what. Maybe he really did just want to die and was going to reject any help, no matter what form it came in. That made his stomach twist a little bit because he had certainly seen too many of his friends die to just sit around and watch it happen some more.  
  
"But nothing," Sam said. "Tony said he'd help. He made that decision logically and freely. Don't argue."  
  
"You don't understand," Bucky snapped.  
  
"There's nothing else to understand," Natasha said, still taking the calm and gentle approach as Bucky edged towards a meltdown.   
  
Clint chimed in to help complete their two-pronged offensive, "Yeah, man, it's his choice."  
  
"No!" He shook his head furiously for a second before looking at Tony again. "I already took the rest of your family and I don't want to be responsible for taking you too! Please, _don't_ do this!"  
  
Tony stared back, at a loss for words and Sam didn't blame him. It should've been obvious but it still hit like a slap to the face so Sam could only imagine what Tony felt. He had those big doe eyes as he processed what Bucky was saying and then he looked away, trying to arrange himself back into his usual, flippant self. But he was plainly struggling.   
  
"Bucky, that wasn't-" Steve said quietly, and it was plain he was just as concerned about upsetting Tony as he was about upsetting Bucky.  
  
"Don't tell me that again!" Bucky snarled back. "For once, _for once,_ I have a say in who I'm going to hurt so let me say it!"  
  
Steve clearly didn't know what to say to that, mouth working but failing to produce anything. He huffed finally and when he spoke it somehow sounded like a pathetic admission of guilt. "I just wanted you to be safe."  
  
"At whose expense?" Bucky said immediately.   
  
When Tony spoke his voice was sort of strained and strong all at the same time. "I made my decision. Get over it or don't." That was all he said before leaving the room. Peter looked nervously between where Tony had gone and back to Steve but seemed unsure if he should move or not. Natasha shook her head at him, going after Tony herself. Peter didn't need to get involved in this, and he wasn't fully briefed on the Bermuda triangle of a relationship between Tony, Steve, and Bucky.   
  
"All I ever do is put people in danger," Bucky muttered, staring at nothing.   
  
"It's gonna be okay, man," Clint said. "Just you watch. Tony's smarter than some grodey old mermaid or whatever."  
  
"I know that," Bucky said and he almost sounded irritable at the implication that he thought Tony was anything less than the smartest person on the planet. "But he's not evil. He's not cruel or conniving. And that's why it's going to win."  
  
Bucky said it with such certainty that Sam felt a dreadful weight press against his chest. He didn't know how long Strange was going to give them to prepare for this, but it suddenly seemed like it could never be enough. Maybe Bucky was right to not want Tony to do this after all. Maybe there was no winning and Strange was just trying to offer whatever last thread of hope he could to them. Sam scrubbed at his face with one hand and tried as hard as he could to have faith that this would turn out alright.But if it didn't, and there was somebody upstairs in charge of everybody's fate, Sam was going to punch them in the face after he died.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "stygian duel" Strange explains is ripped off from the Sandman comics.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that the 'game' Tony plays with the demon is just ripped off from the Sandman comics. I have no idea if i even had them play it right but whatever! Also gross out warning for vomiting and bugs and both at once.

"Tony?"  
  
He blew a rasperry and rolled his eyes dramatically as he spun away from the mess of poor Friday's innards. He was a mature gentleman so he added, "What?"   
  
"Just trying to make sure everyone's okay," Natasha said, stepping daintily further into the room. Her light foot steps didn't fool him. It hurt when she kicked.   
  
"Uh, if I recall correctly, you were the one most recently tormented with visions of unspeakable horrors," Tony answered, pulling another frayed wire away from its source. When Tony was stressed, he had many different ways of dealing with said stress. None of them involved talking to people about that stress unless maybe those people were Pepper or Rhodey and Natasha was neither. With all that'd been going on lately, he had enough stress to power the entire compound if he could only figure out a way to harness it effectively. All of them comibined could've powered the entirety of New York.  
  
"I'd consider them speakable," she responded in her typical breezy way. He had no idea how she managed to keep so much of herself under wraps all the time and envied that greatly. "But I'm trying to be more interested in what's going to happen instead of what already has." If there was one thing they all liked about Natasha, it was that she didn't mince words and didn't belabor her point. But she did that with grace and not blunt insensitivity. "I wanted to be sure you meant it. When you said you made that choice freely," she said. Maybe she felt some kind of guilt for singling him out as their best shot at outwitting a demon.   
  
"Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it," he said with a shrug, tossing another wire on the pile. There was still a lot left to fix. If necessary, Peter could do it with some guidance from Friday on his phone. He was a bright kid.   
  
"I know James didn't seem grateful," she said and Tony sighed audibly hoping she wasn't going to force them to go down that road. She was. "But you know he is, right?"  
  
"He can tell me that himself after I bitchslap that thing back to hell with my giant brain," Tony answered.   
  
"I'm being serious." She looked around at the mess of a room. The room where Barnes had attacked her. Or something controlling Barnes did, anyway, since the guy apparently struggled with autonomy on a regular basis. "He's just-"  
  
"Come on, Romanoff," Tony said, finally turning around. He punctuated the statement by throwing a fried motherboard to the pile of scrap. "I didn't do it for Barnes. I did it for Steve and we both know it. No point in dancing around the metal armed elephant in the room."   
  
Now it was Natasha's turn to sigh. "So he's right. You're doing this because-"  
  
"Because I'm not going to sit around and do nothing while Steve tears his hair out looking for ways to keep a demon posessed man tied up in our basement," Tony answered quickly. "This is-" He groaned angrily as he removed a few more useless pieces of electronics from their places and let them go to the scrapyard. "This is so stupid. All of it. So let's not try to rationalize any of it. Waste of time and energy."  
  
"You still hate him."  
  
"Uh, duh. Maybe you could feasibly downgrade it to a 'strongly dislike' but definitely no further than that." His tongue peeked out of his mouth as he studied the mess and tried to catalog what replacement parts he'd need to fix it. "But that's not the point. We let that thing- _I_ let that thing take Barnes out of spite, and God only knows what it'll do. And like I said. I can't let Steve..." A huff of breath left him. "You were there. We both were. When Aunt Peggy died. And Barnes was nowhere to be found. Those two weeks made me sick to my stomach and it wasn't because of my own grief." He shrugged and turned around to face Natasha. "If I let that thing take Barnes then I may as well be letting it take Steve too. And I can't do that."  
  
She nodded slowly but had to make it worse of course. "And if you lose and it takes both of you?"  
  
Tony laughed because what else could he do in such a ridiculous situation as this one? "Steve'll figure it out." He had to believe that. Things between them had been difficult ever since Steve told him about who had been on Barnes' extensive kill list. So difficult it almost came to blows, something Tony felt almost embarrassed over in retrospect. Of course Barnes didn't have a choice. But when news like that first hits you, it's not exactly easy to be logical and fair in the heat of the moment. Tony wasn't sure if things would ever be like they were before. Part of him still resented Barnes and he didn't think he'd ever be able to rid himself of that. But he could control his actions, so he'd do this. For Steve. Because they were friends. And he knew Steve would do the same for him.  
  
"We all would," she said. It was nice of her, to try to reassure him like that. Didn't really give him a ton of confidence but it was still nice. "We're a team."  
  
He nodded. "Champions in the World Cup of suffering," he muttered, wiping his sweaty palms off on his pants. He didn't want to be here. He should've never come out here and gotten in the middle of this. It was the dumbest fight he'd ever undertaken and he hated it. He blew out a breath and tried to let those thoughts leave with it. "I better get back upstairs and do this before some new catastrophe strikes."  
  
"Strange said to take your time," Natasha reminded him.   
  
Tony shook his head. "No amount of time is going to make me ready for this, okay? It's demons and wizards and magic. Utter nonsense."   
  
She smirked at that. "You really hate that part the most, don't you?"  
  
"Of course I do," he said back, opening the door to the stairs for her. "Any self-respecting individual should. You grow out of magic at the age of like, five? But here's a grown man who dresses in robes and capes, muttering magic words at door frames and we're supposed to act like that's socially acceptable."  
  
"I won't tell him you said that. Even if I might like you better as a frog."  
  
"I'd like to see him try," Tony mumbled even though he really, really wouldn't because a small part of him was terrified that was a very real possibility and wasn't _that_ just the stupidest thing? He walked with Natasha back to the dorms, trying to pretend that empty feeling in his gut had more to do with hunger than anxiety. Given those were two entirely different sensations, he had some trouble.   
  
It didn't help, the way all eyes landed on him when he and Natasha made it back to the main living room. Their glances were either nervous, guilty, pleading, or in Steve's case, eternally grateful, so at least Tony had that. But nobody said anything, like the slightest word might spark something. What, Tony couldn't say. Either an argument or an exorcism. They all lead very interesting lives that got weirder every day.  
  
"This is your final chance to refuse, Mr. Stark," Strange said as he swept back into the room nonchalantly. He'd come from the kitchen. Tony could tell because he set a bag of onions in the middle of the table. He couldn't even begin to guess at the reason for that and figured he should probably conserve his mental strength for other, stranger things anyway.

He took a breath. Thought about basically everything ever. His life. His parents. His shitty relationship with his dad that would never find a resolution. His tumultuous college experience where every prestigious university clamored for him and he drank his way through classes most people dreamed of being in. He thought of the cave in Afghanistan. Thought of the suit, thought of the people he'd saved and the ones he'd left to die. Thought of New York. Thought of Cap and the screwed up dynamic where he kind of resented him kind of wanted to be him and which of those feelings he had because of his dad's friendship with the guy. Thought of the way Steve threw everything he had into saving Bucky Barnes any time it was asked of him, no matter the potential cost, and wondered what it must be like to know that kind of devotion. And he thought of Pepper and wondered why he hadn't tried harder to show it to her. Finally he thought of Barnes and whether or not it really was his moral obligation to help save the soul of a guy who'd ended so many lives.

Sometimes thinking too much was a bad thing. Like now. So he said, "No I'm good. Let's get this over with."  
  
The only sound of protest was a sigh of frustration from Barnes. Tony tried not to look at him. Couldn't tell if he'd feel pity or rage if he did. At least that much was familiar.  
  
"Okay," Strange said. He lifted a hand, palm up, and as he did, every candle he'd placed at various points in the room lit up at once. Magic was stupid. Strange gestured to one of the couches in the other room. The open-area plan of the living quarters meant anyone hanging out in the den area could easily see into the conference area that Strange had chosen for whatever dumb thing was about to happen. "Everyone but Barnes and Stark, stay in there."  
  
Tony watched from where he was leaning his weight into the glass table of the conference room. Wanda was already out there, waiting with a glazed kind of look in her eyes that wasn't exactly giving Tony a ton of confidence. Clint was perched on the arm of the couch even though no one else was sitting in it yet. He was eating from a bag of peanuts which was appropriate because this place _had_ felt like a circus lately.   
  
There were a few words of encouragement given to him as everyone settled down. Steve said nothing but he didn't have to. Tony could see the gratitude in his eyes and it gave him a lot of weird feelings that he didn't like thinking about so he was kind of glad for the silence. He tried not to wonder too hard what his dad would think if he could know his good friend Captain America was indebted to his disappointment of a son.   
  
"You two, take a seat at opposite ends of the table," Strange said, gesturing to the only two chairs he'd left in the room. Tony dropped into his casually, spinning it from side to side in little half-circles. Barnes looked more like a man being forced to do it at gunpoint. His eyes only lifted from the floor briefly to look at Tony and everything was written in that gaze, in his posture, as was the usual. Immense guilt. Begging Tony not to do this.

Everything seemed unreasonably quiet. No one was even fidgeting. It felt surreal, having these people here as an audience to what was sure to be an absurd event. Probably the most absurd in Tony's life. And he'd had a pretty weird life so that was saying something. Then Strange spoke, "Repeat after me: I, Tony Stark, hereby issue a formal challenge to Tiamat in contest of the rights to the body and soul of James Barnes."

Tony said it, trying not to feel like he was sitting in a basement with a bunch of nerds. He was unsuccessful. "Do I roll for initiative now, or after she answers?"

Clint was the only one who laughed and it was cut short with a smack to the chest from Natasha.

The room felt darker. Like when a cloud passes over the sun and it had been your only source of light through an open window. The air felt hotter and more stale, like all the cold in the air was being sucked away to one spot. That spot being Barnes, apparently. His teeth were chattering and he shivered. "This feels weird," Barnes muttered and as he did, his breath turned to vapor.

"Keep calm," Strange advised. "It can't seriously harm you during the course of the game."

Barnes could only respond in a choked off grunt as he suddenly jerked forward, feet stamping into the floor hard. Steve started forward but was stopped when Strange held up a hand. Tony watched, more than a little unsettled as Barnes dragged in each breath to his lungs like an ax murderer pulling in his victims off the street, kicking and screaming the whole way. He hung his head, shaking it loosely from side to side before he arched back. His mouth fell open and his eyes rolled into his skull and water bubbled out of him like some kind of grotesque Medieval fountain. Then, as was the way with most things demonic in nature, came the blood. Barnes jerked forward suddenly and puked it all over the table in what would have otherwise been an impressive amount of projection if it wasn't happening right across from Tony. He couldn't help but wince back, trying to avoid getting it on him.

"Come on!" Steve said, standing up again.

But Strange shook his head. "Demonic possession is like a disease. The body is unaccustomed to something so foul being inside it. It won't kill him, but it's not going to be pleasant."

"Ain't pleasant to watch either," Sam muttered, nose wrinkled in offense.

"Would have liked to know ahead of time," Tony said. "Could've laid out a towel or something."

There was a cracking noise and Tony could see Barnes' fingers gripping the edges of the glass tabletop. Tightly. Very tightly. Little fractures crawled out from beneath his fingers, filling with red as they reached the places where blood pooled. "You...called." Barnes looked up through wet strands of hair that were crystallizing with ice as he spoke. Only it wasn't exactly just Barnes anymore. His eyes were black, and there was nothing of him in the expressionless face. You never realize how much a person's facial expression contributes to your sense of who they are until you see it all erased in front of you. His mouth hardly moved as he spoke but the voice that came out was like a force of nature, powerful and full of authority. Tony had never dealt well with authority. "I an-swer." The table crackled further until it shattered in his grip, pieces raining down onto rug beneath it.

"Hooked on phonics did not work for you at all, did it," Tony said, because it was written in his genetics to not take anything seriously, least of all demonic possession.

"I accept. An-thony Stark. As chal-len-ger."

"Okay, additional terms time," Tony said. He pointed at the broken glass on the floor. "I win, I free Barnes' soul or whatever, but also, I get a new table. The rug has always been a lost cause in this house, but-"

Steve muttered something Tony couldn't hear, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Barnes-or Tiamat or whoever-let his mouth fall open. There was a gross, retching kind of noise and then something splattered to the ground in wet, stringy pieces. A few groans escaped from Tony's audience and even he had to swallow back a wave of nausea as he stared at the rug streaked with blood, sprinkled with glass, and now crawling with a pile of various types of worms and other writhing critters. "My. Patience. Is not. Eternal."

"Fine, fine, uh, so what, do I just-" Tony glanced at Strange and waved. It wasn't like he'd ever done this before. Strange gave a nod as if to tell him to proceed so Tony rolled his shoulders. "I just dive right in here, okay." He thought hard. It was really difficult to do with Barnes giving him that black eyed, bloody-mouthed demon stare. But no one said life was always easy. Starting too big could mean a game over pretty quick, and not one in his favor. He needed to feel out how the game actually worked before trying to go in for the kill. So he said, "I'm a fly. Kind of innocuous, but a lot of things that spread diseases usually are."

"I am a spider. Web-building, fly-snaring."

"I'm an oblivious jogger. I run through a spider web and smash it."

The demon thing cocked its head. Tony had no idea if that was a good sign or not but for the sake of his own confidence he went with yes. Maybe he'd confused it already. "I am a snake. Ankle-biting, venom-injecting."

"I'm a hawk. I eat snakes like you for breakfast."

"I am a marksman. Sure-sighted, hawk-shooting."

"Ooh, heard that one Barton? Practically a shout out."

"I dunno, Tony. I think I'm baked out of my mind, to be honest, but this is amazing."

Tony snorted. What great moral support. Did Barnes even _want_ to come back to this? "Okay..." So what did he use to kill a person that wasn't just another person? It seemed so easy but now that he was here, having to think about it in a way that could hopefully stump a demon, he was fresh out of ideas. Then it hit him. He'd been so busy thinking like-minded to whatever the demon came up with. A fly versus a spider, a snake versus a bird. He didn't remember any rules saying he had to hit the guy back with something of similar stature. So he said, "I'm a bacteria. The deadly disease variety."

"I am anti-body. Invader-destroying, disease-curing."

"I'm cancer. Completely out of control, antibodies can't keep up with it."

"I am radiation. Cell-vaporizing-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you don't have to do that every time," Tony muttered, waving a hand and already focused on his next move. Radiation was really vague. Tony wasn't sure if that meant he got to be vague too or not. "I'm a plant. I use up radiation every day to help make oxygen for our delightful little planet."

There was a sharp whirring noise and he saw the plates in Barnes' arm shift. The demon was definitely not happy. "I am a dying star, planet-eating, life-ending."

"Well, Jesus, if you want to be dramatic," Tony said with a sigh, drawing a hand over his face. Good thing Sam had already helped him drill for this. "Turns out it was a binary star system. So I'm a black hole and I drink you up."

"I am entropy, the decay of existence itself."

And that was a bit like a wall, wasn't it? Where did you go from there? What beat the nothingness that all of reality was destined to become? He felt adrenaline starting to course and it was weird because this didn't feel like anything so serious at first. It was just talking. He knew how to talk. But then he felt the weight of what was at stake. Not just Barnes and him but the rest of the team. What would they do if he lost? What would happen if that thing walked away with not one but two viable human bodies to use on Earth? Focus, he had to focus on an answer, not what-ifs.

"Do you concede defeat?"

"No." Because if it asked that it meant there was an answer. That this wasn't check-mate. So he had to just think and-   
  
He looked up when it struck him, looked it right in the eye even if it freaked him out a little and he said, "I'm creation. Pure and unstoppable."

Tony briefly saw the muscles of Barnes' jaw clench before it stood abruptly, hands clenched in fists. "I am despair." Barnes jerked and shook his head. And then it got scary. Scarier. Because now there were two voices instead of one. And one of those voices didn't sound quite right. "The end of faith. Destruction of hope." Barnes shook some more and grabbed the sides of his head and screamed, "Help me! Oh God why won't anyone help me?!" Tony jerked back reflexively when Barnes staggered forward, anticipating some foul play from the demon.   
  
But he just fell to his knees, scrabbling at his head with his fingers like he was trying to dig something out of his skull. That was enough for Steve, apparently, because he darted off the couch like he could fix whatever was happening. Of course he couldn't, and Barnes was still begging for help. Tony was completely unsure if they were even still playing the game or if this meant he'd lost. He looked to Strange for some kind of indication, but his eyes were closed and he looked like he was in deep concentration.

The weird, demonic voice spoke again, the one that clearly never had belonged to Barnes. "Creation can not persist under the shadow. Mind-destroying, soul-unmaking, despair."

Barnes continued to cry and beg and Tony couldn't decide what was more disturbing: the disembodied demon voice, or the sight of someone as strong as Barnes reduced to this. Steve never even flinched though. He held Bucky at the shoulders, clutching him tight, offering what reassurance he could that they were here, that they'd never give up on him and that was that. The answer struck him, one he was pretty sure the demon couldn't come back from.   
  
So he said, "I'm love. Kind and pure and without any judgement. Unconditional. Uplifting. Enduring through decades of bullshit. Cure to what ails you. Uh, despair included."

There was a shriek then. Tony flinched. Barnes shoved Steve away and he flew like he weighed nothing, slamming back into the couch so hard that it moved back a few feet, full as it was. Strange was on his feet immediately. "You lost. A deal's a deal," he snapped out.   
  
Barnes screamed again, clawing at his face and pulling at his hair. Steve scrambled back to his feet to get back to his side. He tried to catch Barnes by his wrists but the other man flailed and jerked and yelled and spat. He started shrieking in some weird language Tony didn't recognize.   
  
"I don't know what that means and I don't give a shit! Let go!" Steve shouted right back.   
  
Someone screamed then, sending Tony's heart into his throat anew. It'd come from Wanda. Steve let go of Bucky then, staring in shock at something across the room. Tony couldn't see. He started towards the others when-  
  
"How could you son? How could you do this to us?"   
  
He froze, blood run cold. Somewhere, distanly, he still heard screaming. Heard Strange shouting for them to fight back, but against what? His own mom and dad?   
  
"You'd save that murderer, that monster?" Howard demanded angrily, stepping closer. Tony could smell blood and smoke.   
  
"You'd spit on our graves like this?" his mother asked, tears in her eyes.   
  
"I didn't-" he offered feebly. What could he say? How could he justify this to-  
  
Again, distantly, he heard shouting. "It's not real! None of this is real!"  
  
Tony saw Steve. He was staring at a woman who hadn't been there before. She touched his cheek and his brows tugged together. "Aunt Peggy," Tony muttered in a daze because what was going on _what was going on?!_  
  
He sucked in a breath. The air tasted like smoke and blood. His dad. Glaring at him. Disappointed, always so disappointed. He stepped back. Tried to get away. And his feet were stuck. Something-the soles of his sneakers were coated in-  
  
He thought it might be tar. But it was bubbling and writhing with God only knew what. At the center of the mess was Barnes, hunched over his bent knees, arms loose at his sides. The monster, the murderer, even before all of this demon shit. And Tony was supposed to _help_ him?  
  
He looked back to his mother and father, eyes wide, and yeah. Yeah he was supposed to help him. Because it was the right thing to do. And his mom and dad, difficult as they may have been sometimes, they wouldn't begrudge him that.   
  
Tony struggled towards Steve and the phantom-image of Aunt Peggy. His not-parents howled out their protests behind him, cursing him, what a bad kid bla bla bla whatever. It didn't matter. It wasn't them. Had to keep his head clear. He glanced down at Barnes as he passed, and he was like a toy missing its batteries. His eyes looked dull and lifeless, just slumped over himself, forearms tangled in whatever this black shit was. It sucked at Tony's shoes as he walked and he thought for sure they were going to be pulled right off his feet.   
  
He grimaced as he took in the chaos around him. His friends were shouting and arguing and denying their own ghosts. Even now his mom and dad were screaming out their rage at his betrayal and he tried to ignore it no matter how real their voices sounded. "Belief," he muttered, remembering what Strange had said even if he didn't want to have to follow the twisted logic of magic. He had to believe this wasn't real. "Steve come on!" he shotued. The rate he was moving through this crap on the floor he'd never-  
  
Wait. Why was it suddenly up to his ankles? He turned again to look at Barnes. He was in it up to his elbows, most of his legs disappeared beneath it too. Worms and snakes and other gross things writhed over him. Tony swallowed hard when he looked down at his own feet. "Oh God," he muttered, feeling maybe a little bit nauseous when something like a millipede but way larger than any millipede had a right to be crawled up his pant leg. He smacked it away and strained to pull his leg free of the tar. "Okay. Okay. Not real. Really really not real," he whispered, but this stuff wasn't disappearing. "Steve. Buddy. Work with me here! She's not real!"  
  
Aunt Peggy looked at him, face contorting into rage and she honest to God _hissed_ at him like an angry cat. He wanted to burst into laughter but feared the hysteria that might follow.   
  
"Steve, I know you can hear me. We need you. Barnes needs you. You have to-to-" He shook his head and gritted his teeth as he tried and failed to pull his leg free. That was alarming. "You have to pay attention, now! Aunt Peggy's dead and that thing is not her! There are people who need us _now_ and-" He swallowed and looked back at the awful fascimilies of his parents. "We can't stay wrapped up in the past, in things we can't change."   
  
He blinked and they were gone. No grand finale. No explosion of terror. It was like they were never there. And he supposed, well, they hadn't been. Not really.   
  
"Tony!"   
  
He looked up and there was Steve, strong grip on his arms, pulling him out of the gross mess that was totally going to take forever and a day to clean up. "Are you alright?" Steve demanded.   
  
"Oh yeah, I'm just dandy in spite of the hellscape that's sprung up around us," Tony said.   
  
Steve's eyes darted over to Barnes and he whispered, "God damn it all."   
  
"Help him. I think you're the only one that really can," Tony admitted. He had no idea what had happened with the game thing. If he'd really won or if demons just didn't like losing.   
  
Steve swallowed hard and stepped into the tar. "Bucky," he said steadily. His knuckles were white. "Are you-"  
  
Barnes suddenly came to life and screamed like he was being gutted. He howled out his rage to the sky, back arched, arms straining against the grip of the darkness trying to swallow him up. Steve hesitated at the display, but Tony knew the man didn't know how to give up. Sure enough, he took a breath and moved forward. The shit on the floor didn't even stick to him, for whatever reason. Not that magic and demons needed reasons for anything.  
  
Steve dropped to his knees and Bucky tried to writhe away from him, like he was the source of all the pain in the world. "Bucky, I screwed up. A lot. I let you go and then when you came back I was too scared to-" Steve took his face in his hands. His thumbs traced the curve of his cheeks tenderly. He looked him in the eye even as he frothed at the mouth and gagged and screamed and Steve said, "I love you."  
  
"No!" Barnes screeched.  
  
"I love you so damned much," Steve said again, brow set in determination. "And I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Not again."  
  
Then everything seemed to stop all at once. The noise. The screams. The writhing amalgamation of nastiness. Barnes wasn't stuck anymore and he crawled, gasping, away from Steve. He retched. Blood splattered the floor, nearly black. Maybe it wasn't blood at all. They all watched, unsure of what else to do. Waiting to see if it was over. If they'd really done it. "Steve," Barnes whispered then. He looked up through his hair and Tony could see his eyes were blue, like they should be.   
  
"Yeah," Steve said evenly. Barnes' hand shook as he reached out to him and Steve took it before pulling him into a tight hug. And somehow Tony knew for sure, it was over.   
  
Strange dropped back into his chair with an exhausted sigh, rubbing at one of his temples. "Okay," he said on a breath.  
  
"That's it? You're sure it's over?" Sam asked, looking over his shoulders like something might be creeping up behind him. They'd all just been through hell so Tony couldn't blame him for it.  
  
Strange simply nodded, letting his eyes fall closed briefly.   
  
Clint hummed. "I expected, I don't know. A fist fight."  
  
"A fist fight," Strange echoed flatly. "With a millenias-old demon."   
  
"I won the dumb game, thank you very much," Tony said, rolling his shoulders and pushing himself into a seated position. He tried to hide just how much his hands were still shaking. "She wasn't going to be a spoiled sport about it, I guess."  
  
"Uh, did you miss the ghosts of your friends and families being used against you? She was _pissed,_ " Strange said like he was an idiot.  
  
"But she's gone now, right?" Tony asked, just to be sure. You never could tell with the supernatural.  
  
"Yeah. He gave her a send off she won't forget." Strange nodded to Steve, who was following the conversation but still holding onto Barnes like he might disappear again.   
  
"What do you mean?" Steve asked him.  
  
"I told you. Love and mercy are the strongest defenses against a demonic entity. Belief is everything. Winning the game put Barnes' soul back on the market and your vow snatched it back up before."  
  
"His vow," Sam repeated like he was annoyed with the whole thing. "You mean Steve telling Bucky he loved him til the last bus stop or whatever is what ultimately put that thing back in hell where it belongs?"  
  
Strange shrugged. "More or less."  
  
Everyone looked at Steve and Bucky now. Steve immediately looked defensive, but Bucky didn't seem to care one way or the other. And Tony supposed he could understand that. "What?" Steve said finally, letting one hand fall from Bucky's shoulders. Bucky kept his cheek pressed into Steve's chest, unmoving save for his eyes flicking around at them.  
  
"Man, if this is the kind of shit it takes for you to ask somebody out, don't invite my ass to the wedding," Sam said, shoving himself to his feet.   
  
"Yeah," Natasha added wearily, following Sam into the kitchen. Undoubtedly for hard liquor, or maybe ice cream. Could be both at once.  
  
Clint smiled a smug kind of smile and leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands to rest behind his head. "Guess I just got bumped up to best man."  
  
"No one is talking about getting married-" Steve started but was quickly interrupted by Natasha.  
  
"Clint, no one wants to hear a best man's speech about which company's dumpster takes a three story fall the hardest."  
  
"You can do it if Lucky can be one too," Bucky said and Tony had no doubt that he was completely serious.   
  
"You guys know that-" Steve tried once more but was again ignored.  
  
"Right on. I think he'll actually really like that," Clint said.   
  
"Yeah until somebody in the wedding party unzips their skin suit and turns out to be a lizard man or some shit," Sam muttered.  
  
"That's outlandish, Sam," Tony put in as Steve sighed at their dissection and planning of a wedding that wasn't even happening. "They'll turn out to be one of the mothmen."  
  
"There's only one Mothman, not multiple," Bucky corrected him indignantly, like it was common knowledge.  
  
"Why do you know that!" Sam shouted more than asked. "Need somebody to teach you what dental floss is but the fucking Mothman, oh sure, you got those details worked out!"  
  
"I'm allowed to know things!" Bucky cried back.  
  
"Flossing is a thing you should know about way, way before the Mothman!" Sam argued.   
  
"Flossing is just some bullshit made up by the ADA, they've done studies man," Clint said. He waved at Strange. "Back me up here."  
  
"I'm a _brain surgeon_. Not a dentist," Strange responded.   
  
Clint narrowed his eyes like Strange was being obtuse, then gestured from his jaw to the back of his head. "It's all in the same vicinity."  
  
"Fine," Strange said sharply. "You want my opinion as a medical authority? You should _all_ see psychiatric professionals. Immediately. Repeatedly. For as long as they'll have you."   
  
Just as everyone was gathering themselves, remembering that they could breathe again, taking a second to familiarize themselves with the notion that they might be safe, thudding footsteps approached from down the hall. Everyone tensed, but turned to face it together. If they had to fight this thing face to face, then so be it. They'd handled aliens, robots, Nazis. They could add demons to that list.  
  
"My friends! We return with fond greetings and-" Thor abruptly came to a halt, smile faltering as he took in the wreck that was the common area of the Avengers' living space. Blood and broken glass was scattered all over the floor. The place was a wreck, along with the people in it. Vision trailed just behind Thor, and even he expressed some shock at the state of the place with the quirking of an eyebrow. "What has happened here?" Thor asked.  
  
Nobody really felt like answering.  
  


 


End file.
